From branch, to bough, she leapt, she clung,
Till right within the nook,
Where lay the nestlings snug and warm,
She planted her terrific form,
How then they trembled in despair,
And long’d to have their Mother there,
Most grievous is to tell:
And how Puss scorn’d such unripe meat,
And fiercely spurn’d them with her feet.