Robert Louis Stevenson

Underwoods Robert Louis Stevenson

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 blueThat's fairly worth the travelling to.