Keswick Ridge 1880


And from the school-house windows
Children could see the road.
They saw great teams passing
With every sort of load.

And once with tail down drooping
A sturgeon they did see,
A great, a twelve foot monster
As dead as dead could be.

But it was in the Winter
The hill became a joy.
It showed a hard smooth surface
Pleasing to girl or boy.

It was just right for coasting
For more than half a mile,
And sleds ran swiftly, speeding,
And every child did smile.

The clay hill is deserted
The school has moved away.
Now where the children gather
they have less chance to play.
The river road to Keswick
Runs down a long clay hill
The road to the old ferry
A boundry is still.

The roads run at right angles,
And eighty years ago
A school house here stood open
As many still do know.

Behind it stood a forest
Of mighty hardwood trees
It covered many acres.
The scene could not but please.

In that old wood in Summer
Were many things to see,
Ferns flowers without number,
All to the children free.

And on to the public highway
Beneath a willow great
At baseball they would battle
As if to win a State.

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