| lyric | 1. Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by,
me mind bein’ bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly.
I stepped abroard a vision and followed with my will,
till next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill.
2. Delighted by novelty, enchanted with the scene
where in my early boyhood where often I had been.
I thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it still,
it’s the little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.
3. It being the twenty—third of June, the day before the fair,
when Ireland’s sons and daughters in crowds assemble there.
The young, the old, the brave, and the bold, they came for sport and kill,
there were jovial conversations at the cross of Spancil Hill.
4. I went to see my neighbours, to hear what they might say,
the old ones were all dead and gone, the others turning grey.
I met with tailor Quigley, he’s as bold as ever still,
sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill.
5. I paid a flying visit to my first and only love,
She’s white as any lily and gentle as a dove.
She threw her arms around me, saying ‘Johnny, I love you still’
She’s Mag, the farmer’s daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill.
6. I dreamt I stooped and kissed her as in the days of yore, .
She said ‘Johnny, you’re only joking, as many’s the time before.’
The cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,
And Iwoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill. |