Chapter 2
The soft cooing ground-dove creeps close to her mate At this sound of alarm, which all living things hate; The snake-bird is startled, and drops from her bough To dive in the stream that runs swiftly below. Whilst perch'd on a tree the wood-pelican's dreams Are disturb'd by the crane's and the crying-bird's screams. The tortoise made off at the mention of rain, And troops of scared quadrupeds scour the plain!
The rest quickly rise from their seats in affright, To see if the warner has told them aright, As they flatter themselves that it may be mere fancy, Or put little faith in the toad's necromancy; They find he speaks truly, the storm is approaching, Dark clouds o'er the beautiful blue are encroaching, The tempest lays low the tall grass in the field, To the furious blasts even forest-trees yield; All is silent at first, then the loud cracking thunder Bursts at once o'er their heads, and o'erwhelms them with wonder! His danger by instinct each quadruped knows, Now confusion has taken the place of repose: The bears shake their coats, and roll off with a growl, Wolves, dogs, wolverenes, scamper off in full howl. With their quills mounting guard, timid porcupines wait, Whilst the Jaguar and Couguar crouch low and retreat. The sloth gently draws himself up on a bough, The raccoon slyly enters the hollow below. Mice, hedgehogs, and tortoises creep to their holes, And their fortified refuge is sought by the moles. Seals and otters plunge silently into the lake, Mrs. Beaver, too, dives with her young in her wake. The tapir returns to his home in the fens, The marmots are off to their underground dens, And the wishtonwish marmot, the kind prairie dog, Makes room in his hole for the tortoise and frog. The hamster runs home, with the pouch in his cheek Stuff'd with various provisions enough for a week; Then stores in his dark lonely cell the rich pelf, For, ill bred and greedy, he cares but for self. No children, no wife, no companion had he, With his very best friend he could never agree, But lived by himself without pleasure or mirth, In a hermit-like vault, five feet deep in the earth; But the sentinel marmot's shrill whistle of fear Echoes loud o'er the plain, and is heard far and near By his joyous allies, for whose safety he cared, And whose dangers, mirth, sorrows, and dwelling he shared. And Mrs. Opossum, good dame, holds her breath, Safely pockets her young, and as usual, feigns death; Till the storm has blown over they lie in their sack, Whilst the seal scrambles home with her cub pic-a-back. Sir Hans Armadillo, coil'd up in a ball, From the edge of a precipice lets himself fall; Being arm'd "cap-à-pie," he rolls safely away, And lives, without doubt, in his hole to this day. The rein-deer most kindly was offer'd to share In her cold wintry drive by the white polar bear; And she proffers a seat in her sledge, for she knows 'Tis a long weary way to her region of snows; Besides, she is eager to join the dear child She had left on an ice-floe alone to run wild. Savage wolf, being greedy, fell into a trap, Mr. Glutton was kill'd e'en whilst taking a nap; And the badger, poor fellow! for shelter must roam, For he finds the red fox has got into his home. On an island of ice floats the walrus away, With her cub in her fins, who upbraided her stay, The joys of the feast deeply sank in her heart, Like the rest of the guests she was loth to depart.
And now, the repast being greatly diminish'd, By ravens and vultures is speedily finish'd. The tempest has ceased, the wilds beasts are at rest, And each tiny quadruped lies in his nest. Once more o'er the landscape the long shadows creep, The repose and the darkness soon lull them to sleep, For nothing is heard in the once noisy land, Save the whip-poor-will telling that night is at hand.
MORAL.
In life, as in prairies, there's danger abroad, While love and kind hearts the best pleasures afford; Though what we are seeking the pleasantest seems, Disappointments and storms oft assail our best schemes.
Howe'er we may plan them, wherever we roam, Our comforts and joys we at last find at home; There we live on in quiet with those we love best, And the voice of affection there lulls us to rest!
C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.