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Spancil Hill
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On June 23rd each year a major horse fair takes place at Spancilhill, a cross-roads four miles from Ennis. In the song the emigrant dreams of the spot and the happy memories it holds for him.
mandolin autoharp recorde
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The Original Celtic Renaissance duo from Austin, TX! Called Masters of Traditional Folk by The Austin Chronicle, Marc Gunn and Andrew McKee join the autoharp, r
We are the Brobdingnagian Bards (pronounced brAHb'ding-näg-EE-en). We perform a unique style of Celtic folk music that we like to call "a Renaissance in Celtic music" or "The Original Celtic Renaissance. Ask our fans though, and they'll tell you our music is just plain "fun!" With six studio albums completed in just five years, combined with ten other compilations, singles and EPs, we've been called one of the most-productive Celtic groups around. But we just love playing the music.
Song Info
Genre
World • Traditional Irish
Peak in subgenre #1
Author
words and music traditional
Rights
Gunn-McKee
Uploaded
March 24, 2009
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.4 MB • 128 kbps • 3:40
Story behind the song
On June 23rd each year a major horse fair takes place at Spancilhill, a cross-roads four miles from Ennis. In the song the emigrant dreams of the spot and the happy memories it holds for him. *Special Note* Although the actual town is "Spancilhill", the song has entered the folk tradition as "Spancil Hill". This is how we learned the song from our predecessors, thus that is how we list the lyrics.
Lyrics
Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by My mind been bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly I stepped on board a vision and followed with a will Til next I came to anchor at the cross in Spancil Hill It been on the twenty-third of June the day before the fair When Irelands sons and daughters and friends assembled there The young, the old, the brave and the bold came their duty to fulfill At the parish church in Clooney, a mile from Spancil Hill Delighted by the novelty, enchanted by the scene. Where in me early boyhood where often I had been. I thought I heard a murmur. I think I hear it still. It's the little stream of water that flows down Spancil Hill. To amuse a passing fancy, I laid down on the ground. And all my school companions, they shortly gathered round. When we were home returning, we danced with bright good will To Martin Monahan's music, at the cross at Spancil Hill. I went to see me neighbours to see what they might say The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning grey But I met the tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still Ah, he used to make me britches when I lived at Spancil Hill I paid a flying visit to my first and only love She's as white as any lily, gentle as a dove And she threw her arms around me, saying Johnny I love you still Ah, she's now a farmer's daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill I dreamt I knelt and kissed her as in the days of yore Ah, Johnny you're only joking as many the time before Then the cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill
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