On a light sledge behind me, and wandered gray-headed a beggar.
From parish to parish we wandered, and God and good Christians sustained us.
But Time doth lighten most sorrows; and now amid strangers
My children are blooming afresh; for myself it contents me
If only my bread I can win, and playing my jew’s-harp
Can sit 'neath the trees in the sunshine, and sing like a cricket.
* * * * *
Translation of M. Howitt. Johann Ludwig Runeberg, a Finlander.
