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 years ago.
The old school house 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;
It’s music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas 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; ’twas played with knives, by throwing so and so;