And rapid movements, we descry,
While we at ease, secure from ill,
The chimney-corner snugly fill,
A lion darting on the prey,
A tiger at his ruthless play?
Or is it, that in thee we trace,
With all thy varied wanton grace,
An emblem view’d with kindred eye,
Of tricksy, restless infancy?
Ah! many a lightly-sportive child,