Spancil Hill

One night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind was bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on a vision and I followed with the wind
When at last I came to anchor at the cross of Spancill Hill
Then on the 23rd of June the day before the fair
When Ireland’s sons and daughters and friends a**embled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold came their duty to fulfill
At the Parish Church in Clooney a mile from Spancill Hill
I went to see my 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
Sure he used to make my britches when I lived in 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 Ned, the farmer’s daughter, the pride of Spancil Hill
I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
«Oh Johnny you’re only joking, as many’s the time before»
The c*** he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
When I woke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill