But the hurryin’ stranger loud replied,
Higher!
“Oh! don’t you go up such a shocking night.
Come sleep on my lap,” said a maiden bright.
On his Roman nose a tear-drop come,
But still he remarked, as he upward clomb,
Higher!
“Look out for the branch of that sycamore-tree!
Dodge rollin’ stones, if any you see!”
Sayin’ which the farmer went home to bed,