THE SQUIRREL.

Emerging from an eastern cloud, has shot
A look of pure benevolence and joy

Into the heart of night. Yes, I have stood,
And mark'd thy varied note, and frequent pause,
Thy brisk and melancholy mood, with soul
Sincerely pleased; and, oh! methought, no note
Can equal thine, sweet bird-of all that sing
How easily the chief! Yet have I heard
What pleases me still more-the human voice,
In serious sweetness flowing from the heart
Of unaffected woman. I could hark
Till the round world dissolved to the pure
Love teaches, gentle modesty inspires.

strain

HURDIS.

THE SQUIRREL.

RAWN from his refuge in some lonely elm,
That age or injury has hollow'd deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the Winter, ventures forth
To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun,
The Squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play:

THE SQUIRREL.

He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird,

Ascends the neighbouring beech, there whisks his brush,

And perks his ears, and stamps and cries aloud,

With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm,

And anger insignificantly fierce.

COWPER.