There's a glen in old Tir Connaill, there's a cottage in that glen, Where there dwelt an Irish colleen, who inspired the hearts of men. She was handsome hale and hearty, shy and graceful like the dawn, And they loved the widow's daughter, handsome laughing Noreen Bawn.
Till one day there came a letter, with her passage paid to go, To the land where the Missouri, and the Mississippi flow. So she said good-bye to Erin, and next morning with the dawn, This poor widow broken hearted, parted with her Noreen Bawn.
Many years the widow waited, till one morning to her door, Came a tender-hearted woman, costly were the clothes she wore. Saying "mother don't you know me tho' I'm frail tis but a cold", But her cheeks were flushed and scarlet, and another tale they told.
There's a graveyard in Tir Connaill, where the flowers wildly wave, There's a grey-haired mother kneeling, o'er a green and lonely grave. And my Noreen she is saying, it's been lonely since you've gone, 'Twas the curse of immigration, laid you here my Noreen Bawn.
Now fond youths and tender maidens, ponder well before you go, From your humble homes in Erin, what's beyond you'll never know. What is gold and what is silver, when your health and strength are gone, When you speak of immigration, won't you think of Noreen Bawn.
Composed by: Neil McBride, Feymore, Creeslough, Co. Donegal.
This is the original words of the song. It was composed around 1915 at a time when young people were returning from America and England with T.B. and Scarlet Fever which is the story of Noreen Bawn