ARIZONA IRISH MUSIC SOCIETY

SPANCIL HILL


     Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
     My mind bein' bent on ramblin' to Ireland I did fly
     I stepped aboard a vision, and followed with my will
     Till next I came to anchor at the Cross near Spancil Hill

     Delighted by the 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 by Spancil Hill

     It being the 23rd of June, the day before the Fair
     When Ireland's sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
     The young, the old, the brave and bold, they came for sport and kill
     There were jovial conversations at the Cross of Spancil Hill

     I went to see my neighbors, to hear what they might say
     The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones 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

     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, sayin' "Johnny I love you still!"
     She's Nell, the farmer's daughter, and the pride of Spancil Hill

     I dreamt I stopped and kissed her as in the days of yore
     She said "Johnny, you're only joking, as many times before."
     The cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
     And I woke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.

                                *