TO A SQUIRREL IN A CAGE.
Little spinner, blithe and gay,
Dancing thus thy life away!
A King his palace might resign,
For a couch as soft as thine!
Thou canst choose, as suits thee best,
When to toil, and when to rest:
Free from earthly care and strife,
Merrily doth pass thy life.
Ere the day begins to dawn,
Thou art at thy work alone;
By the early riser seen,
Turning round thy light machine.
Quick thou tip’st the slender wires,
Which more art than strength requires;—
Be the weather foul or fair,
Heart and foot are light as air!
Joyful in thy little jail,
Thou dost spread thy bushy tail:
Playing many a curious prank,
Tumbling like a mountebank!
When awful thunders o’er thee break,
And earth’s foundations seem to shake,
Free from terror and dismay,
Thou heed’st it not, but spin’st away.
Separated now for good,
From thy cronies of the wood,
Thou no more dost wander free,
Skipping light from tree to tree.
Though once with thee things better went,
Thou seemest happy and content,
If some kind friend supply thy lack,
By giving thee a nut to crack.
And when thou hast it in thy paw,
In face of either friend or foe,
The beamings of thine eye impart
The motions of a grateful heart.