Der Kreisel

Spancil Hill (Considine) | The Dubliners | 15 Years On (1977)

She’ll see it.

Last night as I lay dreaming
Of pleasant days gone by
My mind then bent on rambling
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 on Spancil Hill
Bein’ on the twenty-third of June
The day before the fair
When Ireland’s 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

I went to see my neighbors
To see what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone
The young ones turning gray
I met the tailor Quigley
He’s as bald as ever still
He used to make my breeches when
I lived in Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit to
My first and only love
She’s as white as any lily
As gentle as the dove
She threw her arms around me
Saying, “Johnny, I love you still”
Ah, she’s yet the 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’s the time before”
Then the cock he crew in the morning
Ah, he crew both loud and shrill
And I woke in Californ-eye-ay
Many miles from Spancil Hill

For What Died the Sons of Róisín? | The Dubliners | Revolution (1970)

For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it fame?
For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it fame?
For what flowed Ireland’s blood in rivers,
That began when Brian chased the Dane,
And did not cease nor has not ceased,
With the brave sons of ‘16,
For what died the Sons of Róisín, was it fame?
 
For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it greed?
For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it greed?
Was it greed that drove Wolfe Tone to a pauper’s death in a cell of cold wet stone?
Will German, French or Dutch inscribe the epitaph of Emmet?
When we have sold enough of Ireland to be but strangers in it.
For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it greed?
 
To whom do we owe our allegiance today?
To whom do we owe our allegiance today?
To those brave men who fought and died that Róisín live again with pride?
Her sons at home to work and sing,
Her youth to dance and make her valleys ring,
Or the faceless men who for Mark and Dollar,
Betray her to the highest bidder,
To whom do we owe our allegiance today?
 
For what suffer our patriots today?
For what suffer our patriots today?
They have a language problem, so they say,
How to write “No Trespass” must grieve their heart full sore,
We got rid of one strange language now we are faced with many, many more,
For what suffer our patriots today?

Luke Kelly

Kid on the Mountain (slip jig) | The Dubliners