Now I’ll tell you, one and all, dat I feel mighty proud, When I have my banjo wid me, and gets into a crowd, Dey do make a circle round me, and out dey do cry, For to sing dis good old song, boys--root hog or die. Now I’ll tell you all, &c. You may talk about your fiddles and de old tambo, But they cannot be compared with de old banjo, On it I’ll end my song, and I’m not ashamed to deny The title that I give it, boys, was--root hog or die. Now I’ll tell you all, &c. Twenty Years Ago. 42 I have wander’d by the village, Tom--I’ve sat beneath the tree, Upon the school-house playing-ground which shelter’d 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 as 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 alter’d 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 bell swings to and fro, The music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas Twenty Years Ago. The boys 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 had 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 Years Ago. Down by the spring upon an elm you know I cut your name-- Your sweetheart is just beneath it Tom--and you did mine the same, Some heartless wretch has peel’d the bark--’twas dying sure but slow, Just as the one whose name you cut did 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 old 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 were we play’d just Twenty Years Ago.