 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
BREAKNECK HILL.
Seeking each once-familiar spot
Which memory holds though time may not,
I stand within the town again,
A stranger at three score and ten.
No trace of what I used to know
In boyhood, sixty years ago.
Houses on houses ranged in rows—
I mind green fields instead of those;
Where stands yon mansion tall and fair,
I think the schoolhouse once stood there;
They've filled the pond, torn down the mill;
No landmark left but Breakneck Hill.
Which memory holds though time may not,
I stand within the town again,
A stranger at three score and ten.
No trace of what I used to know
In boyhood, sixty years ago.
Houses on houses ranged in rows—
I mind green fields instead of those;
Where stands yon mansion tall and fair,
I think the schoolhouse once stood there;
They've filled the pond, torn down the mill;
No landmark left but Breakneck Hill.
'Tis Summer now, and all is green,
But memory paints a Winter scene,
As on the hill when school was through
Down its steep slope our cutters flew.
Some there were furred—the children these
Of folk who walked the paths of ease;
Some clad but poorly—children they
Of those who trod a harder way;
But all essayed with toil and time,
Dragging their sleds the hill to climb;
And, when they reached its summit, then
With laugh and shout, glide down again.
But memory paints a Winter scene,
As on the hill when school was through
Down its steep slope our cutters flew.
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Of folk who walked the paths of ease;
Some clad but poorly—children they
Of those who trod a harder way;
But all essayed with toil and time,
Dragging their sleds the hill to climb;
And, when they reached its summit, then
With laugh and shout, glide down again.
Well I remember years away,
One bitter cold December day,
When I, with Melton, Jack and Phil,
My playmates, climbed that very hill.
All these had richer sires than I,
Their fathers thought their stations high;
While mine, whose purse was poorly filled,
His rude, unfertile acres tilled;
But that ne'er marred our childish joys—
Democracy's the creed of boys;
As equals there we climbed, and then
Each swiftly glided down again.
One bitter cold December day,
When I, with Melton, Jack and Phil,
My playmates, climbed that very hill.
All these had richer sires than I,
Their fathers thought their stations high;
While mine, whose purse was poorly filled,
His rude, unfertile acres tilled;
But that ne'er marred our childish joys—
Democracy's the creed of boys;
As equals there we climbed, and then
Each swiftly glided down again.
In after life each played the game;
Jack slowly climbed the hill of fame;
By painful steps and hard he rose,
The wonder of both friends and foes.
His learning struck the crowd with awe,
His smile was honor, word was law;
He reached the summit; for a while
Fortune seemed on her son to smile;
Admired, caressed, by flatterers sought,
The fiend of drink a victim caught.
Jack tottered on his throne, and then
He slid below, nor rose again.
Jack slowly climbed the hill of fame;
By painful steps and hard he rose,
The wonder of both friends and foes.
His learning struck the crowd with awe,
His smile was honor, word was law;
He reached the summit; for a while
Fortune seemed on her son to smile;
Admired, caressed, by flatterers sought,
The fiend of drink a victim caught.
Jack tottered on his throne, and then
He slid below, nor rose again.
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Phil strove to climb the hill of wealth,
For this he bartered truth and health;
He lost no chance for gain, and still
Climbed higher on the muddy hill;
No conscience barred, nor shame dismayed,
No pity checked nor mercy stayed,
Until upon the summit there
He stood confessed a millionaire.
The failure of a scheme one day
Swept Phil's ill-gotten gains away,
Left him a load of debt, and then
He never climbed the hill again.
For this he bartered truth and health;
He lost no chance for gain, and still
Climbed higher on the muddy hill;
No conscience barred, nor shame dismayed,
No pity checked nor mercy stayed,
Until upon the summit there
He stood confessed a millionaire.
The failure of a scheme one day
Swept Phil's ill-gotten gains away,
Left him a load of debt, and then
He never climbed the hill again.
With different aim from Jack or Phil,
Melton went climbing pleasure's hill.
His father left him rich, and he
A man of fashion chose to be;
Kept racers and some other things
That gave his fortune fleetest wings;
Drove four-in-hand and sailed a yacht,
Did all a provident man should not,
And, when one-half his store was drained,
By gaming scattered what remained.
He tottered on the summit, then
Slid down, and never rose again.
Melton went climbing pleasure's hill.
His father left him rich, and he
A man of fashion chose to be;
Kept racers and some other things
That gave his fortune fleetest wings;
Drove four-in-hand and sailed a yacht,
Did all a provident man should not,
And, when one-half his store was drained,
By gaming scattered what remained.
He tottered on the summit, then
Slid down, and never rose again.
In Winter, man, at Breakneck Hill,
May climb and coast it at his will;
Down from the summit he may sweep,
And upward next unhindered creep—
From low to high, from high to low
Upon that sloping plane of snow;
But he who gains the highest ground
Where pleasure, wealth and fame are found
Must let no effort be undone
To keep the foothold he has won,
For, should he fall, 'tis certain then
He'll never climb that height again.
May climb and coast it at his will;
Down from the summit he may sweep,
And upward next unhindered creep—
From low to high, from high to low
Upon that sloping plane of snow;
But he who gains the highest ground
Where pleasure, wealth and fame are found
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To keep the foothold he has won,
For, should he fall, 'tis certain then
He'll never climb that height again.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |