The Captive Squirrel

S

QUIRREL—squirrel lithe and wee!
Thy fur's as soft as down can be,
Thy teeth as ivory are white,
Yet hard enough through nuts to bite.

“Squirrel—squirrel lithe and wee!
How gladly would I purchase thee—
But mother says: 'Twill never do,
Thou nibblest table, book and shoe.'”

Squirrel—squirrel hung his head;
“Oh! speak not thus,” he sadly said,
“Heav'n gave me once a woodland home
Where I the livelong day might roam,
And gaily leap from branch to twig
As blithe and merry as a grig;
Then came a wicked man who laid
The snare by which I'm captive made,
And now 'twill be my mournful doom
Instead of in the forest free,
To live pent in a narrow room
By way of bush or stately tree!
What wonder if, thus sad and lorn,
From all my dearest habits torn,
A-foraging I sometimes go
And get a snubbing or a blow?
Child, should you on some summer's day,
Within the greenwood chance to stray,
I pray you that from me you greet
The happy creatures that you meet,
The fawns, ants, sparrows and the hares
And tell them how with me it fares,
That while they leap, creep, sing and fly.
In chains and prison I must lie.”