Fame hung me a crown on the mountain top
Where the strongest eagles soar.
I had only to climb to make it mine —
Only that — no more;
But Happiness left a pair of shoes —
Dancing-shoes — at my door.

Oh, the way is rough to the mountain top,
And the dancing green is fair;
And there all day do the fiddles play,
And the mountain is gaunt and bare;
And one has blood on his hob-nailed boots,
Ere he gains the summit there.

Happiness left me dancing-shoes,
Tasselled and trim and neat;
And the fiddles play and the dancers sway
And my partner's face is sweet.
There's time enough for a lad to climb
With hob-nailed boots on his feet.