Not really 19th century and not exactly about a tramp but my song, Theodore Lamb tells the story of a working Oxfordshire hermit who had a shack he lived in beside a country road not too far from Banbury. He was   a trained clockmaker and repairer who travelled miles every day looking for work. He died around 1950. He was very much a local celebrity and is still talked about in that area. There are a number of wonderful photographs on the internet.

Theodore Lamb was a Sibford boy, a stranger to the town
Greenwoods and fields about him were his joy
He loved the turning seasons, nature's colours, every sound
He never saw the hours passing by.

But farming gave him little pay, he left to learn a trade
Through honest labour he would find his way
Clockmaker and repairer, his future surely made
He never saw the hours passing by

When the Great War came to blight the land, Theodore had changed
He lived a life that few could understand
Unkempt in tattered clothing his whole world rearranged
He never saw the hours passing by.

They called him up to serve the King but he refused to fight
He said he didn't start the thing and killing wasn't right
He never saw the hours passing by, he never saw the hours passing by.

His matted beard hung down his chest, he plaited his long hair
Soon wearing sackcloth led to his arrest
They claimed he was indecent but he just didn't care
He never saw the hours passing by.

He played his wind-up gramophone, a penny for each song
Fixed watches in his run-down shack alone
He dragged his cart through winter, travelled miles all summer long
He never saw the hours passing by.

Time brought fame to Theodore, the hermit on the hill
Rich people came to see a man so poor
He charged them two and sixpence, their privilege his will
He never saw the hours passing by.

Respected for his dignity, nobody said he lied
He had no truck with charity and worked until he died
He never saw the hours passing by, he never saw the hours passing by.