THE SQUIRREL.
High, high, and as near to the sky
As the tallest branches reach;
See, see, how nimble and free
The squirrel climbs the beech!
Bright, bright, as the diamond's light,
You may see his quick eyes play;
Still, still, as the whispering rill,
Or he'll flit like a bird away.
Down, down, to the oak's leafy crown;
There he thinks he's out of sight;
Swing, swing, O the blithe-hearted thing!
How he chuckles with delight!
Crack, crack, with his tail on his back,
'Mong the acorns crisp and fine;
"Sweet, sweet!" ah! It must be a treat
In his own green bowers to dine.
Blow, blow, and the leaves they lie low
In the autumn's chilly blast;
Drear, drear, to the eye and the ear,
All the wood's green life is past;
Deep, deep, now the squirrel doth sleep,
So snug in the hollow tree;
Calm, calm, till the spring sun is warm,
And the king-cups gem the lea.
George Bennett.