The busy partridge beats her woodland drum.
The frost has tipt the trees with lovelier tints
Than pencil ever gave to forest scene;
There, green and gold in various hues combine,
Spotted with crimson where the maple stands,
And when the sun upon the hoar-frost shines,
The foliage sparkles, as though crystals hung
On every leaf, and trembled in the air.
The eye now penetrates the half-clad trees,
And spies the squirrel in his leafy house,