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Spencil Hill
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A classic, heart-wrenching song of lost love and immigration.
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"If the great Phil Ochs were to rise from the dead today, he would probably be hailed as the new David Rovics." Andy Kershaw, BBC
Song Info
Genre
Acoustic • Acoustic Folk
Peak in subgenre #186
Author
Sung by David Rovics
Rights
Written by Anonymous
Uploaded
June 14, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 10.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
I'm not sure if this song originated in Ireland or in America, but it's a classic, heart-wrenching song of lost love and immigration, one of so many great songs to come out of the depopulation of Ireland through starvation and the "American wakes," or immigration.
Lyrics
(by Author Unknown) Last night as I lay dreaming Of pleasant days gone by Me mind being bent on rambling To Ireland I did fly I stepped on board a vision I followed it with a will And I shortly came to anchor At the cross of Spencil Hill Delighted by the novelty Enchanted by the sea Wherein my early boyhood Often I had been I thought I heard a murmur I think I hear it still Its the little stream of water That flows down Spencil Hill To amuse a passing fancy I lay down on the ground Where all my school companions They quickly gathered round As we were home returning We danced with bright good will To Martin Moylan's music At the cross on Spencil Hill I went to see my neighbors To hear what they would say The old ones were all dead and gone The young ones old and gray I spoke with the tailor, Quigly He's bold as ever still Sure, he used to make my britches When I lived on Spencil Hill I paid a flying visit To my first and only love She's bright as any lily And gentle as a dove She threw her arms around me Saying, "Johnny, I love you still" She's Mack the ranger's daughter And the prize of Spencil Hill I dreamt I stooped and kissed her As in the days of yore She said, "Johnny, you're only joking "As many's the time before" The rooster crowed in the morning He crowed both loud and shrill And I awoke in California Many miles from Spencil Hill
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