Misc Traditional – Noreen Bawn (Ukulele)

#----------------------------------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 <AA12378>; Fri, 25 Jun 1993 11:47:57 -0700 Received: from sulu.orl.mmc.com by animal-farm.nevada.edu id <[email protected]>; Fri, 25 Jun 1993 11:47:55 -0700 Message-Id: <[email protected]> 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 <[email protected]> Subject: ?IRISH//Noreen_Bawn.crd To: [email protected] ([email protected]) Date: Fri, 25 Jun 93 14:47:04 EDT Mailer: Elm [revision: 70.85] Noreen Bawn CAPO 2/3

          F                  C6  F                              F+    F E7AM
          There's a spot in old Tirconnel, there's a wee house in the glen,

                C7             F            C7                     F F FM F
          Where dwelt an Irish colleen, who inspired the hearts of men,

                                                                    F A7 DM
          She was winsome, fair and hearty, shy and graceful as the fawn,

          G9                  C7     F                C7              F
          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.