Spancil Hill

Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone byMy mind being bent on rambling, to Ireland I did flyI stepped on board a vision and I followed with a willAnd shortly came to anchor at the cross in Spancil Hill

It been on the twenty-third of June, the day before the fairWhen Ireland's sons and daughters and friends assembled thereThe young, the old, the brave, and the bold came, their duty to fulfillAt the parish church in Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill

I went to see my neighbours to hear what they might sayThe old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning greyBut I met the tailor Quigley; he's as bold as ever stillSure, he used to make me britches when I lived at Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit to my first and only loveShe's as white as any lily and gentle as a doveShe threw her arms around me saying: "Johnny, I love you still"She's Ned the farmer's daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore"Ah, Johnny, you're only joking as many's the time before."Then the cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrillI awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill