I climbed the barren mountain,
And my gaze swept far and
For the red-lit eaves of my father's home,
And I fancied that he sighed:
My son has gone for a soldier,
For a soldier night and day;
But my son is wise, and may yet return,
When the drums have died away.
I climbed the grass-clad mountain,
And my gaze swept far and
For the rosy lights of a little room,
Where I thought my mother sighed:
My boy has gone for a soldier,
He sleeps not day and night;
But my boy is wise, and may yet return,
Though the dead lie far from sight.
I climbed the topmost summit,
And my gaze swept far and
For the garden roof where my brother stood,
And I fancied that he sighed:
My brother serves as a
With his comrades night and day;
But my brother is wise, and may yet return,
Though the dead lie far away.
