The gauger walked with willing foot, And aye the gauger played the flute;
And what should Master Gauger play But OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY?
Whene'er I buckle on my pack And foot it gaily in the track, O pleasant gauger, long since dead, I hear you fluting on ahead.
You go with me the self-same way -
The self-same air for me you play;
For I do think and so do you It is the tune to travel to.
For who would gravely set his face To go to this or t'other place?
There's nothing under Heav'n so blue That's fairly worth the travelling to.
On every hand the roads begin, And people walk with zeal therein;
But wheresoe'er the highways tend, Be sure there's nothing at the end.
Then follow you, wherever hie The travelling mountains of the sky.
Or let the streams in civil mode Direct your choice upon a road;
For one and all, or high or low, Will lead you where you wish to go;
And one and all go night and day OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY!
Forest of Montargis, 1878
