Powderhall

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 assembled 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 cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,