Here is the cave where our clans were assembled, Guarded by sentries, nor traitor could reach; Ghostly and tomb-like, where heroes dissembled Blood-chilling fears in their boldness of speech. Bruce had a refuge here, Wallace lay wounded, Hallowed its clammy walls, safe its retreat, Once ’twas a labyrinth, gloomy, unsounded, ’Tis but a gravel pit, just off the street.
How things have changed in the years since we knew them, Pirate and redskin and treasure and clan; Men walk beside them and past them and through them, Giving no heed that our blood there once ran; Making no sign for the struggles that swept them, Flintlock and scalplock, raid, warfare, and strife, How things have changed since we cherished and kept them! All of the romance has gone out of life!
’Bout eight o’clock first night that we Were down at the academy ’Twas awful rainy out, and so We both of us stayed in, you know; But we could hear the wind and rain Come splashing on the window-pane; And after while, why, Henry Stout Put up the curtain and looked out, And said, “My! Ain’t she coming down! I wish I was in Beaverstown.”
And then nobody spoke at all, Just listened to the rain-drops fall; And Henry sniffled up his nose Because he had a cold, I s’pose. And then he said, “I wonder how Our folks are getting on by now.” And I said, “Oh, I guess all right. My! Ain’t it rainy out to-night!” And Henry gave a great big sigh And swallowed hard--and so did I.
And then he said, “My! Such a noise! I guess there’s lots of homesick boys Around tonight.” And I said, “Oh,”-- Just careless like--“Oh, I don’t know.” And then he said, “I guess Jim Brown Is glad he stayed in Beaverstown And didn’t have to come down here.” And I said, “Do your eyes feel queer? I got a speck in mine, I guess, They water so.” And he said, “Yes.”
And then he looked and tried to smile, And we kept still for quite a while, And heard it rain; and then he said, “I s’pose our folks are gone to bed And sound asleep by now, I guess.” And then I swallowed and said, “Yes.” So then we both got into bed And heard it rain; and then he said, “My! Ain’t she just a-pouring down! I wish I was in Beaverstown.”
In Aunt Amelia’s kitchen there are many wonders done, Such miracles are wrought as never seen beneath the sun: A pumpkin from the garden--just a yellow sphere that lies Beneath her skilful handling ripens quickly into pies; The corn grows into fritters, you must marvel at the change; The apples change to dumplings in the glowing kitchen range She waves her hands above it, and the milk is cottage cheese. You merely watch her, and you see such miracles as these.