55 lines
2.7 KiB
TeX
55 lines
2.7 KiB
TeX
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Last night as I lay dreaming,of the pleasant days gone by, \\
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My mind being bent on rambling and to Erin’s Isle I did fly. \\
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I stepped on board a vision and sailed out with a will, \\
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‘Till I gladly came to anchor at the Cross of Spancil Hill. \\
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Enchanted by the novelty, delighted with the scenes, \\
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Where in my early childhood, I often times have been. \\
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I thought I heard a murmur,I think I hear it still, \\
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‘Tis that little stream of water at the Cross of Spancil Hill. \\
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And to amuse my fancy, I lay upon the ground, \\
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Where all my school companions, in crowds assembled ’round. \\
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Some have grown to manhood, while more their graves did fill, \\
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Oh I thought we were all young again, at the Cross of Spancil Hill. \\
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It being on a Sabbath morning, I thought I heard a bell, \\
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O’er hills and vallies sounded, in notes that seemed to tell, \\
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That Father Dan was coming, his duty to fulfill, \\
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At the parish church of Clooney, just one mile from Spancil Hill. \\
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And when our duty did commence, we all knelt down in prayer, \\
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In hopes for to be ready, to climb the Golden Stair. \\
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And when back home returning, we danced with right good will, \\
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To Martin Moilens music, at the Cross of Spancil Hill. \\
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It being on the twenty third of June, the day before the fair, \\
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Sure Erin’s sons and daughters, they all assembled there. \\
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The young, the old, the stout and the bold, they came to sport and kill, \\
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What a curious combination, at the Fair of Spancil Hill. \\
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I went into my old home, as every stone can tell, \\
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The old boreen was just the same, and the apple tree over the well, \\
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I miss my sister Ellen, my brothers Pat and Bill, \\
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Sure I only met my strange faces at my home in Spancil Hill. \\
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I called to see my neighbours, to hear what they might say, \\
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The old were getting feeble, and the young ones turning grey. \\
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I met with tailor Quigley, he’s as brave as ever still, \\
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Sure he always made my breeches when I lived in Spancil Hill. \\
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I paid a flying visit, to my first and only love, \\
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She’s as pure as any lily, and as gentle as a dove. \\
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She threw her arms around me, saying Mike I love you still, \\
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She is Mack the Rangers daughter, the Pride of Spancil Hill. \\
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I thought I stooped to kiss her, as I did in days of yore, \\
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Says she Mike you’re only joking, as you often were before, \\
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The cock crew on the roost again, he crew both loud and shrill, \\
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And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill. \\
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But when my vision faded, the tears came in my eyes, \\
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In hope to see that dear old spot, some day before I die. \\
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May the Joyous King of Angels, his Choicest Blessings spill, \\
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On that Glorious spot of Nature, the Cross of Spancil Hill. \\
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