"We'll soon be there," the hero said,
"Come on, 'tis but a mile,—
"Here's where the cricket-match was play'd,
"And here's the shady stile.
"How the light shines up every bough!
"How strange the leaves appear!
"Hark!—What was that?—'tis silent now,
"Come, Mary, never fear."
The staring oxen breathed aloud,
But never dream'd of harm;
A meteor glanced along the cloud
That hung o'er Wood-Hill Farm.
Old Caesar bark'd and howl'd hard by,
All else was still as death,
But Caleb was ashamed to cry,
And Mary held her breath.
At length they spied a distant light,
And heard a chorus brawl;
Wherever drunkards stopp'd at night,
Why there was Andrew Hall.
The house was full, the landlord gay,
The bar-maid shook her head,
And wish'd the boobies far away
That kept her out of bed.
There Caleb enter'd, firm, but mild,
And spoke in plaintive tone:—
"My mother could not leave the child,
"So we are come alone."
E'en drunken Andrew felt the blow
That innocence can give,
When its resistless accents flow
To bid affection live.
"I'm coming, loves, I'm coming now,"—
Then, shuffling o'er the floor,
Contrived to make his balance true,
And led them from the door.
The plain broad path that brought him there
By day, though faultless then,
Was up and down and narrow grown,
Though wide enough for ten.