And now I will give you the money, my sons,
Which I promised, you know, for your drum and your guns,
To spend in the way you desire."
The brothers went home, thinking o'er by the way,
For how many comforts this money might pay,
In something for clothing or food:
At length they resolved, if their mother would spend it,
For what she thought best, they would get her to send it
Where she thought it would do the most good.
=The Mountain Minstrel=.
On our mountain of Savoy,
In the shadow of a rock,
Once I sat, a shepherd-boy,
Watching o'er my father's flock.
We'd a happy cottage-home,
Peaceful as the sparrow's nest,
Where, at evening, we could come
From our roamings to our rest.
I'd a minstrel's voice and ear:
I could whistle, pipe and sing,
While I roving, seemed to hear
Music stir in every thing.
But misfortune, like a blast.
Swift upon my father rushed;
From our dwelling we were cast--
At a stroke our peace was crushed.
All we had was seized for debt:
In the sudden overthrow,
Even my fond, fleecy pet,
My white cosset, too, must go.
Then I wandered, sad and lone,
Where I'd once a flock to feed;
All the treasure now my own
Was my simple pipe of reed.
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