Push for PORTER

Last night as I lay dreaming
of pleasant days gone by
My mind being bent on ramblin'
to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision
and I followed with a will
Till next I came to anchor
at the cross near Spancil Hill

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

It was on the twenty-third of June,
the day before the fair
When lreland's sons and daughters
and friends assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold,
came their duty to fulfil
At the parish church at Clooney,
just a mile from Spancil Hill

I went to see my neighbours ,
to hear what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone,
the young ones turning grey
I met the tailor Quigley,
he's as bold as ever still
Sure he used to mend my 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
and as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me sayin'
"Oh Johnny I love you still"
Oh she's Ned the farmer's daughter
and the pride of Spancil Hill

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