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There's a spot in old Tirconnel, there's a wee house in the glen,
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Where dwelt an Irish colleen, who inspired the hearts of men,
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She was winsome, fair and hearty, shy and graceful as the fawn,
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Neighbors loved the widows daughter, happy, laughing Noreen Bawn.
Then one day there came a letter, with her passage paid to go,
To the land where the Missouri and the Mississippi flowed,
So she said good-bye to Erin, and next morning at the dawn,
A poor broken hearted mother bid farewell to Noreen Bawn.
Many years that Mother waited, till one morning at the door,
Stood a gorgeous looking lady, all grand the clothes she wore,
Saying Mother don't you know me, sure I've only got a cold,
But the purple spots upon her cheeks, the tragic story told.
There's a graveyard in Tirconnel, where the blossoms sadly wave,
There's a broken hearted Mother, knelling on a lonely grave,
Saying my Noreen you are calling, its long years since you've
gone,
It was the curse of immigration, that laid you low my Noreen Bawn.
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