Spancil Hill

 

Last night I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by,
Me mind bein' bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly,
I stepped aboard a vision and followed with my will,
Till next I came to anchor at the cross near Spancil Hill.

On the road between Ennis and Tulla one finds Spancil Hill,
where a fair is held every year.  It has the distinction of being
one of the oldest horse fairs in Munster, Ireland.
Photograph courtesy/The Times

Delighted by the novelty, enchanted with the scene,
Where in my early boyhood where often I had been.
I thought I heard a murmur ad I think I hear it still.
It's the little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill.

It being the twenty-third of June, the day before the fair,
When 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 of Spaniel 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 Mag, the farmer's daughter, and the pride of Spancil Hill.

I dreamt I stooped and kissed her in the days of yore
She said, "Johnny, you're only joking, as many's the time before."
The cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill,
And I woke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.

"Spancil Hill"
Based on a poem written by 
Michael Considine
(1850-1873)
An Irish immigrant living in California, Mr. Considine
wrote this poem in memory of his hometown and mailed it
to his nephew in Ireland shortly before his death.

The rendition of Spancil Hill written by the late singer/songwriter
Robbie McMahon, who died in 2012 at the age of eighty-six, is
widely regarded as the definitive version of this song.