A Joyous Traveler was he,
The one child of the company.
Bright locks he had and eyes of blue,
And chubby cheeks of rosy hue,
And sturdy legs to romp and run.
Such was the Squire's Little Son.
Tho' strong and bold,—his father's lad,—
His mother's tender heart he had;
And, taught by her, would often find
Some childish way of being kind.
The love of all he quickly won.
Such was the Squire's Little Son.
In active sport, from morn to night,
And ventures bold he took delight.
Yet always from his frolics wild
A promised tale would win the child.
Scarce would he stir till it was done.
Such was the Squire's Little Son.
And so right glad was he, when they—
The Joyous Travelers on their way—
Told tales of hero, beast, or elf,
Of saints, of children like himself,
Or comic tales with jokes and fun;
All pleased the Squire's Little Son.
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