She left the fair shores of her own native Ireland;
She left them at noon on a sunshiny day.
She bade fond farewell to her friends and relations
And she set sail for America so far far away.

It was little she thought as she stepped on the liner
That bore her away from the Foyle's sunny shore
It was little she thought as she stepped on the liner
That her own beloved Derry she'd never see more.

She landed one morning in New York's big city
Amidst all the hustle and bustle and care
And she gazed in surprise at the New York skyscrapers
And wished she was back home in her Derry so fare.

For years there she worked in a big mill in Boston;
The room it was dark and no sun did shine there.
And the roses soon left the cheeks of young Ethna,
And she pined like a caged bird for Derry so fair.

One night as she lay in her cold attic chamber
She dreamed that her own darling truelove was there.
But it was the angel of Death that so softly came nigh her
And took away Ethna from this sad world of care.

We dug her a grave out at Holy Cross Abbey
Where many the exile a grave has found there;
One small sprig of shamrock we planted above her
And she sleeps her last sleep far far from Derry so fair.