American Old Time Song Lyrics: 19 Twenty Years Ago
Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 19
TWENTY YEARS AGO.
I have wandered by the village, Tom; I've pat beneath the tree,
Upon the school-house playing-ground, which sheltered you and me;
But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to know,
That play'd with us upon the green, just twenty years ago.
The grass is just an green, dear Tom; bare-footed boys at play
Are sporting just as we were then, with spirits just as gay;
But master sleeps upon the hill, all coated o'er with snow,
That afforded us a sliding-place just twenty years ago.
The old school-house is altered some; the benches are replaced
By new ones, very like the same our penknives had defaced;
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the hell swings to and fro.
The music just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago.
The hoys are playing some old game, beneath that same old tree;
I do forget the name just now- you have play'd the same with me;
On that same spot, 'twas play'd with knives, by throwing so and so-
The leaders haa a task to do there twenty years ago.
The river is running just as still; the willows on its side
Are larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide;
The grape-vine swing is ruin'd now, where once we play'd the beau.
And swung our sweethearts-pretty girls- just twenty years ago.
The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading beach,
Is very high-'twas once so low that we could almost reach;
But in kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,
To see how sadly I am changed since twenty yeari ago.
Down by the spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name;
Your sweetheart is just beneath it, Tom-and you aid mine the same;
Some heartless a retch has prel'd the bark-'twas dying sure but slow.
Just as the one whose name you cut, died twenty years ago.
My lids have long been dry, dear Tom, but tears come in 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 class, excepting you and me;
But when our time shall come, dear Tom, and we are call'd to go,
I hope they'll lay us where we play'd just twenty years ago.