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.

The stiles were wretchedly contrived,
The stars were all at play,
And many a ditch had moved itself
Exactly in his way.

But still conceit was uppermost,
That stupid kind of pride:--
"Dost think I cannot see a post?
"Dost think I want a guide?