Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou little water-haunting sprite!
I wonder at thy great delight
In lonely stream and murky night,
And life so wet;
I fain would tame thee, if I might,
And have a pet.

You 'd find such treatment as I think
You never yet have had, poor mink!
With meat to eat and milk to drink,
And fish for game;
No chain upon thy limbs should clink,
So thou wert tame.

But now your home is in a bog,
Thy resting place a fallen log,
Thy food a nasty snake or frog,
And then you dread
The hunter's bloody, searching dog,
Or fear his lead.

The trapper wants thy furry hair
Which thou as much art loath to spare,
And so he lays the cruel snare
For thy poor feet;
Unthinking man, thy arts forbear—
Its life is sweet!

Dame Nature made thee not in haste,
But tried a dozen times, at least,
Her hand at forming other beast,
Both nice and neat,
Ere she began to show her taste
In thee complete.

But whither hurriest thou away?
In the cold brook to frisk and play,
This frosty, chill October day?
Dost spurn my proffer?
Alackaday! you'll scarcely stay
To hear me offer.

I read your answer as you flee:
“I love the sweets of liberty;

No doubt you would be good to me,
And treat me well;
But then the joy of being free—
Ah, who can tell?

So marvel not that I decline
Being just now a pet of thine;
You choose your life, so do I mine.
Contented aye,
Nor shall I at my lot repine—
So go your way!”

Well, timid thing, I 've heard thy plea,
And for as much will credit thee;
But you are off and gone, I see,
So I will go,
And with my lot I'll try to be
Contented, too.