Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by, Me mind been bent on rambling, to Ireland I did fly, I stepped on board a vision and followed with a will Till next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancill Hill. Delighted by the novelty, enchanted with the scene, Where in me early boyhood - 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 Spancill Hill. To amuse a passing fancy I lay down on the ground, And all my school companions they shortly gathered round When we were home returning we danced with bright goodwill, To Martin Moynahan's music at the cross at Spancill Hill. It was on the 24th of June, the day before the fair When Ireland's sons and daughters and all assembled there, The young, the old, the brave, the bold came their duty to fulfil, At the little church in Clooney, a mile from Spancill Hill. I went to see me neighbours to see what they might say, The old ones they were dead and gone, the young ones turning grey, I met the tailor Quigley, he was bold as ever still, sure he used to make my britches when I lived at Spancill Hill. I paid a flying visit to me first and only love, She's as fair as any lilly and gentle as a dove, She threw her arms around me crying "Johnny I love you still", She was a farmer's daughter, the pride of Spancill Hill. Well I dreamt I hugged and kissed her as in the days of yore She said "Johnny you're only joking" as many the times before, The cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancill Hill.