Love Songs, &c, SONG

Faint and wearily the way-worn traveller, Plods uncheerily afraid to stop: Wandering drearily a sad unraveller, Of the mazes tow'rd the mountains top: Doubting, fearing, While his course he's steering: Cottages appearing, When he's nigh to drop: Oh! how briskly then the way-worn traveller, Treads the mazes tow'rd the mountains top.

Tho' so melancholy day has past by, 'T would be folly to think on't more: Blythe and jolly he the keg holds fast by, As he's sitting at the goat-herd's door: Eating, quaffing, At past labour laughing: Better far by half In spirits than before: Oh! how merry then the rested traveller, Seems while sitting at the goat-herd's door.