Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
Me mind been bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and followed with a will
When next I came to anchor at the cross in Spancil Hill
Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene.
Where in me early boyhood so often I had been.
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still.
It's that little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.
Been on the twenty-third of June the day before the fair
When Irelands sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold, their duty to fulfill
At the parish church of Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill
I went to see me neighbours to hear what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone and the young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still
Showed me ... to make my britches when I lived at Spancil Hill
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as fair as any lily and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, saying Johnny I love you still
Ah, she's now a farmer's daughter, the pride of Spancil Hill
I dreamt I knelt and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said: Johnny you're only joking as many the time before
Then the cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill
|
