SONG. The way-worn Traveller

Faint and wearily the way worn traveller Plods, uncheerily, afraid to stop; Wand'ring, drearily, afraid to stop; Of the mazes towards the mountain's top. Doubting, fearing while his course he's steering, Cottages appearing as he's nigh to drop:— Oh! how briskly then the way worn traveller Treads the mazes toward the mountain's top. Oh! how briskly, &c.

The so melancholy day has pass'd by, 'Twou'd be folly now to think on't more; Blithe and jolly he the can holds fast by, As he's sitting at the goatherd's door. Eating, quaffing, at past labor laughing, Better far by half in spirits than before:— Oh! how merrily the rested traveller Seems while sitting at the goatherd's door. Oh! how merrily, &c.