One
day, through the primeval wood,
A
calf walked home, as good calves should;
But
made a trail all bent askew,
A
crooked trail as all calves do.
Since
then two hundred years have fled,
And,
I infer, the calf is dead.
But
still he left behind his trail,
And
thereby hangs my moral tale.
The
trail was taken up next day
By
a lone dog that passed that way;
And
then a wise bell-wether sheep
Pursued
the trail o'er vale and steep,
And
drew the flock behind him, too,
As
good bell-wethers always do.
And
from that day, o'er hill and glade,
Through
those old woods a path was made.
And
many men wound in and out,
And
dodged, and turned, and bent about;
And
uttered words of righteous wrath,
Because
'twas such a crooked path.
But
still they followed - do not laugh -
The
first migration of that calf.
And
through this winding wood-way stalked,
Because
he wobbled 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 in 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
work 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.