I.

Faint and wearily, the way-worn traveller
Plods uncheerily, afraid to stop!
Wandering drearily, a sad unraveller
Of the mazes toward the mountain's 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 toward the mountain's top!

II.

Though so melancholy day has passed by
'Twould be folly now to think on't more;
Blithe and jolly, he the cag holds fast by
As he's sitting at the goatherd'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 goatherd's door!