Last night as I lay dreamin' Of pleasant days gone by Me mind bein' bent on travelin' To Ireland I did fly I stepped aboard a vision and followed with my will 'Til 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 think I hear it still It's the little stream of water That flows down Spancil Hill
It being the 23rd of June The day before the fair Where Ireland's sons and daughters In crowds assembled there The young, the old, the brave and the bold They came for sport and kill There were jovial conversations At the cross near Spancil Hill
I went to see my neighbours To hear what they might say The old ones were all dead and gone The others 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 Saying Johnny I love you still She's Meg the farmers daughter And the pride of Spancil Hill
I dreamt I stooped and kissed her As in the day of 'ore She said Johnny you're only joking As many the times before The cock crew in the morn' He crew both loud and shrill And I woke in California Many miles from Spancil Hill