There's a cottage in that glen
Where dwelt a fair young maiden
Who inspired the hearts of men
She was handsome, hale, and hearty,
shy and graceful as the fall
that widow's charming daughter,
Then one day there came a letter
with her passage paid to go
To the land where the Missouri
and the Mississippi flows
Soon she had got all things ready
And next morning at the dawn
Many years that widow waited
Till one evening to her door
Slowly walked a slender maiden
Costly were the clothes she wore
Say, Mother, don't you know me?
I have only caught a chill
But the red flush on her forehead
Told that she was very ill
There's a graveyard in Tyrkonil
Where the lilies wily wail
There's a broken -hearted mother
Kneeling over a lonely grave
Oh, a -storing she is sighing
It's so lonely since you're gone
There's the curse of emigration
As you hear my knoring bong
ponder well before you go
From your native homes in Ire land,
what's bey ond you'll never know
What is gold or what is sil ver,
when your health and strength are gone
When you think of immigration,
won't you think of Noreen Bond?
When you think of immigration,
won't you think of Noreen Bond?