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Spancil Hill
PD. Michael Considine, (1850-1873). Scheduled for an upcoming
Darby CD.
notes: A poignant ballad.

     Dm              C                                 (Am)  Dm
Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
                                               F                C
Me mind bein' bent on ramblin’, to Ireland I did fly
Dm                                   F                    C
I stepped aboard a vision and followed with a will
   Dm                C                 Dm       C     (Am)  Dm
Till next I came to anchor at the cross at Spancilhill

Delighted by the novelty, enchanted with the scene
Where in my early boyhood days 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 from Spancilhill

To amuse a passing fancy I lay down on the ground
And all my school companions shortly gathered ‘round
When we were home returnin’ we danced with bright good will
To Martin Moynihan’s music at the cross at Spancilhill

It was on the twenty-third of June, and the day before the fair
When Ireland's sons and daughters and friends assemble there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold came, their duty to fulfill
At the parish church in Cloony, not a mile from Spancilhill

I went to see my neighbors, to see what they might say
The old ones, they were dead and gone; the young ones turnin’ grey
I met the taylor, Quigley; he’s as bold as ever still
He used to make my britches when I lived at Spancilhill

I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as fair as any lily, as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, cryin’: Johnny, I love you still
She was a farmer's daughter, and the pride of Spancilhill

I dreamt I hugged and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said: Johnny you're only joking, as many's the time before
The cock crew in the mornin’, and he crew both loud and shrill
And I woke in Califor-ni-a, many miles from Spancilhill
And I woke in Califor-ni-a, many miles from Spancilhill