There's a cottage in that glen
Where once dwelt an Irish Colleen
Who inspired the hearts of men
She was gentle, pale and hearty,
shy and graceful as the fawn
that widow's happy, laughing,
Then one day there came a letter
With her passage paid to go
To the land where the Missouri
And the Mississippi flows
So she said goodbye to Erin,
and next morning at the dawn
That poor mother, broken -hearted,
Many years the widow waited
Till one morning to her door
Slowly walked a graceful female
Costly were the clothes she wore
She said, Mother, don't you know me?
I have only caught a cold
But her cheeks were plushed and scarlet
Where the flowers gently wave
There's a grey -haired mother kneeling
O 'er a cold and lonely grave
Honouring, she is sighing
It's been lonely since you've gone
T 'was the curse of emigration
So you youths and tender maidens
Ponder well before you go
From your humble homes in Arran
What's the use of gold and silver
When you speak of emigration
won't you think of Noreen Bond?
When you speak of emigration
won't you think of Noreen Bond?