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 willTill next I came to anchor at the cross of Spancil HillIt being on the 23rd of June, the day before the fairWhen lreland's sons and daughters, and friendsAssembled thereThe young, the old, the brave and the bold, came theirDuty to fulfillAt the parish church in Clooney, a mile from SpancilHillI went to see me neighbors, to see what they might sayThe old ones were all dead and gone, the young one'sTurning greyBut I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bould as everStillAh he used to make my breetches when I lived in SpancilHillI paid a flying visit to my first and only loveShe's as white as any lily and as gentle as a doveAnd she threw her arms around me, saying "Johnny, ILove you still"Oh she's Nell the farmers daughter, and the pride ofSpancil HillI dreamt I held and kissed her, as in the days of yoreAh, "Johnny you're only joking as many's the timeBefore"Then the cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loudAnd shrillI awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.