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.
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.
Gentle friend, dost thou inquire
What’s the lineage whence I came?
Jesse is my shepherd sire—
David-Jesse is my name!