Over the Mountain
Over the mountain, and over the moor,
Hungry and weary I wander forlorn;
My father is dead, and my mother is poor,
And she grieves for the days that will never return;
Give me some food for my mother in charity;
Give me some food and then I will be gone.
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
Cold blows the wind and the night’s coming on.
Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough,
Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew;
I’ve two little brothers at home, when they’re old enough,
They will work hard for the gifts you bestow;
Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity.
Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on;
Give me some food for my mother in charity,
Give me some food, and then I will begone.