#----------------------------------PLEASE NOTE---------------------------------#
#This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation of the #
#song. You may only use this file for private study, scholarship, or research. #
#------------------------------------------------------------------------------##
Received: from animal-farm.nevada.edu by redrock.nevada.edu (5.65c/M1.4)
	with SMTP id ; Fri, 25 Jun 1993 11:47:57 -0700
Received: from sulu.orl.mmc.com by animal-farm.nevada.edu id ; Fri, 25 Jun 1993 11:47:55 -0700
Message-Id: <199306251847.AA17720@animal-farm.nevada.edu>
Received: by sulu.orl.mmc.com
	(1.37.109.4/16.2) id AA13726; Fri, 25 Jun 93 14:47:06 -0400
From: Wes Jester 
Subject: ?IRISH//Noreen_Bawn.crd
To: jamesb@animal-farm.nevada.edu (jamesb@nevada.edu)
Date: Fri, 25 Jun 93 14:47:04 EDT
Mailer: Elm [revision: 70.85]






                                     Noreen Bawn
                                                      CAPO  2/3 

          G                  G6  G                              G+    C E7AM
          There's a spot in old Tirconnel, there's a wee house in the glen,
                D7             G            G7                     G C CM G
          Where dwelt an Irish colleen, who inspired the hearts of men,
                                                                    C E7 AM
          She was winsome, fair and hearty, shy and graceful as the fawn,
          D9                  D7     G                D7              G
          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.
Show more