TWENTY YEARS AGO

I'VE wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree,
Upon the schoolhouse playground, that sheltered you and me;
But none were left to greet me, Tom; and few were left to know,
Who played with us upon the green some twenty years ago.

The grass is just as green, Tom; barefooted boys at play
Were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gay.
But the “master” sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o’er with snow,
Afforded us a sliding-place some twenty tears ago.

The old schoolhouse is altered now; the benches are replaced
By new ones, very like the same our penknives once defaced;
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro;
Its music’s just the same, dear Tom, ’t was twenty years ago.

The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree;
I have forgot the name just now-you’ve played the same with me
On that same spot; ’t was played with knives, by throwing so and so;
The loser had a task to do- there, twenty years ago.

The river’s running just as still; the willows on its side
Are larger than they were, Tom; the stream appears less wide;
But the grapevine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau,
And swung our sweethearts-pretty girls- just twenty years ago.

The spring that bubbled ’neath the hill, close by the spreading beech,
Is very slow –’t was then so high that we could scarcely reach;
And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,
To see how sadly I am changed since twenty years ago.

Near by the spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name,
Your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same;
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, ’t was dying sure but slow,
just as she died, whose name you cut, some twenty years ago.

My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came to my eyes;
I thought of her I loved so well; those early broken ties;
I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew
Upon the graves of those we loved some twenty years ago.

Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea;
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me;
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we were called to go,
I hope they’ll lay us where we played just twenty years ago,

Francis Hueston.