High, high, and as near to the sky

As the tallest branches reach;

See, see, how nimble and free

The squirrel climbs the beech!

Bright, bright, as the diamond's light,

You may see his quick eyes play;

Still, still, as the whispering rill,

Or he'll flit like a bird away.

Down, down, to the oak's leafy crown;

There he thinks he's out of sight;

Swing, swing, O the blithe-hearted thing!

How he chuckles with delight!

Crack, crack, with his tail on his back,

'Mong the acorns crisp and fine;

"Sweet, sweet!" ah! It must be a treat

In his own green bowers to dine.

Blow, blow, and the leaves they lie low

In the autumn's chilly blast;

Drear, drear, to the eye and the ear,

All the wood's green life is past;

Deep, deep, now the squirrel doth sleep,

So snug in the hollow tree;

Calm, calm, till the spring sun is warm,

And the king-cups gem the lea.





George Bennett.