The Way Worn Traveller

Faint and wearily the way worn traveller, Clods uncherily afraid to stop; Wand'ring drearily, and fad unraveller Of the mazes towards the mountains top; Doubting, fearing, while his course he's steering, Cottagers appearing as he's like to drop; O how briskly then the way worn traveller, Treads the mazes towards the mountain's top.

The so melancholy day is past, 'Twould be folly sure to think on't more, Blythe and jolly he the can holds fast by, As he's seated at the goat-herd's door: Eating, quaffing, at past labours laughing, Better far by half in spirits than before; O how merry then the rested traveller, Sings while seated at the goat-herd's door.