Last night as I lay dreaming
Of pleasant days gone by,
My mind being bent on rambling,
To Ireland i did fly.
I stepped on board a vision
And followed with a will
'Til next I came to anchor at
The cross near Spancill Hill.
'Twas on the 24th of June,
The day before the fair,
When Ireland's sons and daughters
And friends assembled there.
The young, the old, the brave, the bold
Came their duty to fill
At the Parish Church at Clooney,
Just 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,
The young ones turning grey.
I met the tailor Quigley,
he's bold as ever still.
Sure he used to mend my britches
When I lived at Spancill Hill.
I paid a flying visit
To my first and only love,
She's fair as any lily
And gentle as a dove.
She threw her arms around me saying,
'Johnny, I love you still'.
She was Meg, the farmer's daughter
And the pride of Spancill Hill.
