One cold bleak night, the stars were hid,
In vain she wish'd him home;
Her children cried, half cheer'd, half chid,
"O when will father come!"

'Till Caleb, nine years old, upsprung,
And kick'd his stool aside,
And younger Mary round him clung,
"I'll go, and you shall guide."

The children knew each inch of ground,
Yet Ellen had her fears;
Light from the lantern glimmer'd round,
And show'd her falling tears.

"Go by the mill and down the lane;
"Return the same way home:
"Perhaps you'll meet him, give him light;
"O how I _wish_ he'd come."

Away they went, as close and true
As lovers in the shade,
And Caleb swung his father's staff
At every step he made.

The noisy mill-clack rattled on,
They saw the water flow,
And leap in silvery foam along,
Deep murmuring below.