"Why, Mary, how you twist and twirl!
"Why dost not keep the track?
"I'll carry thee home safe, my girl,"--
Then swung her on his back.

Poor Caleb muster'd all his wits
To bear the light ahead,
As Andrew reel'd and stopp'd by fits,
Or ran with thund'ring tread.

Exult, ye brutes, traduced and scorn'd,
Though true to nature's plan;
Exult, ye bristled, and ye horn'd,
When infants govern man.

Down to the mill-pool's dangerous brink
The headlong party drove;
The boy alone had power to think,
While Mary scream'd above.

"Stop!" Caleb cried, "you've lost the path;
"The water's close before;
"I see it shine, 'tis very deep,--
"Why, don't you hear it roar?"

And then in agony exclaim'd,
"O where's my mother _now_?"
The Solomon of hops and malt
Stopp'd short and made a bow: