But a noble, pitying friend,
Who had seen me sadly stray,
Made me to his lute attend;
And he taught me how to play.
Then his lute to me he gave;
And abroad he bade me roam,
Till the earnings I could save
Would redeem our cottage-home.
Glad, his counsel straight I took--
I received his gift with joy;
All my former ways forsook,
And became a minstrel-boy.
With my mountain airs to sing,
Forward then I roamed afar,
Sweeping still the tuneful string--
Having hope my leading star.
In the hamlets where I've gone,
Groups would gather--music-bound:
In the cities I have drawn
List'ners till my hopes were crowned.
Ever saving as I earned,
I of one dear object dreamed;
To my mountain then returned,
And our cottage-home redeemed.
Time has wiped away our tears;
Here we dwell together blest;
All our sorrows, doubts and fears
I have played and sung to rest.
Here my aged parents live
Free from want, and toil, and cares;
All the bliss that earth can give
Deem they in this home of theirs.
Life's night-shades fast o'er them creep;
All their wrongs have been forgiven--
They have but to fall asleep
In their cot, to wake in heaven.
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