And those heaps of dried beetles’ and butterflies’ legs.
The poor owl, who spoke well in the prairie-dog tongue,
Now found an excuse, in the care of her young;
Alleged the hard times; that is, beetles were few,
So to find them in food she had plenty to do.
The raccoon stood apart in a beautiful glade,
Much disturb’d by the noise that the company made,
And there with a friend he stay’d fretting and pining,
To hear such a bellowing, howling, and whining.
“Oh! those red-monkeys’ shrieks,” his old friend would begin,