Last night as I lay dreaming
Me mind been bent on rambling
I stepped aboard a vision
and followed with my will
Till next I came to anchor
at the cross near Spencil Hill
Delighted by the novelty,
Enchanted with the scene,
Where in my early boyhood,
I thought I heard a murmur
And I think I hear it still
It's a little stream of water
That flows down Spencil Hill
It'd be the twenty -third of June,
When Ireland's sons and daughters
in crowds assembled there
They came for sport and thrill
And their jovial conversation set
The cross of Spencil Hill
to my first and only love
She threw her arms around me,
saying, Johnny, I love you still
The farmer's daughter, and the price,
I dreamt I stooped and kissed her,
She said, Johnny, you're only joking
As many as the time before
The cuckoo in the morning
It grew both loud and shrill
That's nice, that's why you come in.
