that calf,
"And through this winding woodway stalked
"Because he wabbled when he walked.
"This forest path became a lane,
"That bent and turned and turned again;
"This crooked lane became a road,
"Where many a poor horse, with his load,
"Toiled on, beneath the burning sun,
"And traveled some three miles in one.
"And thus a century and a half
"They trod the footsteps of that calf.
"The years passed on with swiftness fleet,
"The road became a village street,
"And this, before men were aware,
"A city's crowded thoroughfare.
"And soon the central street was this
"Of a renowned metropolis.
"And men two centuries and a half
"Trod the footsteps of that calf.
"Each day a hundred thousand rout
"Followed the zigzag calf about;
"And o'er his crooked journey went
"The traffic of a continent.
"A hundred thousand men were led
"By one calf near three centuries dead.
"They followed still his crooked way,
"And lost one hundred years a day;
"For thus such reverence is lent
"To well-established precedent.
"A moral lesson this might teach,
"Were I ordained and called to preach.
"For men are prone to go it blind
"Along the calf-paths of the mind,
"And toil away from sun to sun
"To do what other men have done.
"They follow in the beaten track,
"And out and in, and forth and back,
"And still their devious course pursue
"To keep the path that others do.
"But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
"Who saw the first primeval calf!
"Ah! many things this tale might teach;
"But I am not ordained to preach."