 | My Lyrical Life |  |
HUNT THE SQUIRREL.
It was Atle of Vermeland
In Winter used to go
A-hunting up in the pine-forest,
With snow-shoes, sledge, and bow.
In Winter used to go
A-hunting up in the pine-forest,
With snow-shoes, sledge, and bow.
Soon his sledge with the soft fine furs
Was heaped up heavily,
Enough to warm old Winter with,
And a wealthy man was he.
Was heaped up heavily,
Enough to warm old Winter with,
And a wealthy man was he.
When just as he was going back home,
He looked up into a Tree;
There sat a merry brown Squirrel, that seemed
To say—“You can't shoot me!”
He looked up into a Tree;
There sat a merry brown Squirrel, that seemed
To say—“You can't shoot me!”
And he twinkled all over temptingly,
To the tip of his tail a-curl!
His humour was arch as the look may be
Of a would-be-wooed sweet Girl,
To the tip of his tail a-curl!
His humour was arch as the look may be
Of a would-be-wooed sweet Girl,
That makes the Lover follow her, follow her,
All his life up-caught,
A-dreaming on with sleeping wings,
High in the heaven of thought.
All his life up-caught,
A-dreaming on with sleeping wings,
High in the heaven of thought.
30
Atle he left his sledge and furs;
All day his arrows rung,—
The Squirrel went leaping from bough to bough,—
Only himself they stung.
All day his arrows rung,—
The Squirrel went leaping from bough to bough,—
Only himself they stung.
He hunted far in the dark forest,
Till died the last day-gleams;
Then wearily laid him down to rest,
And hunted it through his dreams.
Till died the last day-gleams;
Then wearily laid him down to rest,
And hunted it through his dreams.
All night long the snow fell fast,
And covered his snug fur-store;
Long, long did he strain his eyes,
But never found it more.
And covered his snug fur-store;
Long, long did he strain his eyes,
But never found it more.
Home came Atle of Vermeland,
No Squirrel! No furs for the mart!
Empty head brought empty hand;
Both a very full heart.
No Squirrel! No furs for the mart!
Empty head brought empty hand;
Both a very full heart.
Ah, many a one hunts the Squirrel,
In merry or mournful truth;
Until the gathering snows of age
Cover the treasures of Youth.
In merry or mournful truth;
Until the gathering snows of age
Cover the treasures of Youth.
Deeper into the forest dark
The Squirrel will dance all day;
'Till eyes go blind and miss their mark,
And hearts will lose their way.
The Squirrel will dance all day;
'Till eyes go blind and miss their mark,
And hearts will lose their way.
My Boy! if you should ever espy
This Squirrel up in the tree,
With a dancing devil in its eye,
Just let the Squirrel be!
This Squirrel up in the tree,
With a dancing devil in its eye,
Just let the Squirrel be!
| My Lyrical Life | |