Johann Nepomuk Vogl (1802–1866)

A WANDERING youth with a cane in his hand

Comes home again from a foreign land.

His hair is dusty, his face is brown;

Who will know him first in the little town?

He enters the town by the ancient gate.

At the toll-bar leans a former mate:

The publican once was a cherished friend,

Gay hours at the tavern they used to spend.

But see, his old comrade knows him not:

His face is so sunburnt that he is forgot.

The youth wanders on with a greeting fleet,

And shakes off the dust from his tired feet.

From a window his love looks with gentle eyes.

“Be welcome, oh, loveliest maiden!” he cries.

See, even the maiden knows him not:

His face is so sunburnt that he is forgot.

So on he is strolling across the town:

A tear gleams bright on his cheek so brown.

There totters his mother from the church-door.

“God bless you!” he says, and nothing more.

But see, his old mother is sobbing with joy:

“My son!”—And she sinks on the breast of her boy.

No matter how sunburnt his face has grown,

By a mother’s eye he is straightway known.