Spancil hill where is

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Private Ennis Walking Tour for up to 6 people. He has visions of his childhood and his schoolboy friends, the parish priest, the local fair, his neighbors, the town folk, and the love he left behind Mary MacNamara was her name. All the places and characters depicted in the song are real. Michael Considine was born in Spancilhill in the middle of the 19th century, around He emigrated to America at around Some members of the family emigrated with him and others stayed behind.

His intention was to work and earn enough money to bring his sweetheart over to America where they would be married. He worked in Boston for a few years before moving to California. At the age of 23, he was suffering ill health, and realizing he had little time to live, he wrote the poem, Spancil Hill.

It was to be taken home by his nephew, John Considine in remembrance for the love he left behind. He died soon after. Mary remained true to Michael for the rest of her life and never married. Last night as I lay dreaming, of the pleasant days gone by, My mind being bent on rambling and to Erin's Isle I did fly.

I stepped on board a vision and sailed out with a will, 'Til I gladly came to anchor at the Cross of Spancilhill. We meet his friends and family such as a tailor named Quigley who in real life lived near the Considines and made their shoes but, it is his sweetheart that he enjoys meeting the most yet their union is short lived as the emigrant is woken from his dream and he realizes he is in California, many miles from Spancil Hill. He died never seeing the girl he wanted to wed and she, in turn, decided to live her life mourning him and never married.

And to amuse my fancy, I lay upon the ground, Where all my school companions in crowds assembled round, Some have grown to manhood, while more their grave did fill, Oh, I thought we were all young again at the cross of Spancil Hill.

And when our duty did commence, we all knelt down in prayer, In hopes for to be ready, to climb the golden stair, And when back home returning, we danced with right good will, To Martin Moilens music at the cross of Spancil Hill. I went into my old home, as every stone can tell, The old boreen was just the same, and the apple tree over the well, I miss my sister Ellen, my brothers Pat and Bill, Sure I only met strange faces at my home in Spancil Hill. But when my vision faded, the tears came in my eyes, In hope to see that dear old spot, some day before I die, May the joyous king of angles, his choicest blessings spill, On that glorious spot of nature, the cross of Spancil hill.

What is your favorite rendition of Spancil Hill? Let us know in the comments section, below. This article was submitted to the IrishCentral contributors network by a member of the global Irish community.

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