THE MOUNTAINEER’S FATHER WILLIAM.
“YOU are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“ And your waistcoat is awfully tight,
And yet you persistently plough up Sty Head,
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In the days of my youth,” Father William replied,
“T fostered each Sybarite taste ;
But now I strive hard my tum-tum to retard,
By wasting to limit my waist!”
“ You are old, Father William,” the young man cried,
“ Relinquish a passion so dread !
Lay ice axe and rope and dementia aside !—
Remember the years o’er your head!”
“In the days of one’s youth,” Father William replied,
“A passion more deadly appears ;
It is better for years to be over my head,
Than for me to be head over ears!”
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“ And your legs are as flabby as suet,
Yet you gloat in a week on a second-rate peak,
Pray, how in the world do you do it?”
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