Testo Spancil Hill

Spancil HillLast night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone byMe mind been bent on rambling, to Ireland I did flyI stepped on board a vision and I followed with a willWhen next I came to anchor at the cross of Spancil HillDelighted by the novelty, enchanted by the sceneWhere in my early boyhood so often I had beenI thought I heard a murmur and I think I hear it stillIt´s the little stream of water that flows down Spancil HillIt bein´ on the 23rd of June, the day before the fairWhen Ireland´s sons and daughters and friends assembled thereThe yound, the old, the brave and the bold came their duty to fulfillAt the parish church near Clooney, a mile from Spancil HillI went to see me neighbours, to hear what they might sayThe old ones where all dead and gone, the young ones turning greyI met the tailor Quigley, he´s as bold as ever stillSure he used to make me breeches when I lived in Spancil HillI payed a flying visit to me first and only loveShe´s as white as any lily, she´s as gentle as a doveShe threw her arms around me, saying "Johnny, I love you still"Ah, she´s Ned, the farmer´s daughter, the pride of Spancil HillI dreamed I held and kissed her as in the days of yoreShe said "Oh Johnny, you´re only joking as many´s the time before"The cock, he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrillI awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill