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Last night as I lay dreamin' |
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Of pleasant days gone by |
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My mind bein' bent on raveling |
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To Ireland I did fly |
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I crept aboard a vision |
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and I followed with the wind |
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When next I came to anchor |
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At the cross at Spancil Hill |
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Be now the 23rd of June the day before the fair. |
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When Ireland's sons and daughters and friends assembled there. |
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The young, the old, the brave and the bold with a duty to fulfil. |
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at the parish church near Cluny a mile from Spancil Hill |
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I went to see my neighbours to see what they might say. |
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The old ones were all dead and gone and the young were turning grey. |
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I met with the tailor Quigley, he's a bold as ever still, |
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sure he used to mend my breeches when I lived on Spancil Hill. |
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I paid a flying visit to my one and only true love. |
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She's as gentle as a lily and as snow white as a dove. |
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She threw her arms around me saying ""Johnny I love you still"". |
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As she's Nell the farmers daughter she's the pride of Spancil HiII. |
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I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore. |
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She said, ""Johnny you're only joking like many a time before"". |
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The cock he crew in the morning he crew both loud and shrill. |
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And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill. |
