BEING out of heart with government

                                I took a broken root to fling

                                Where the proud, wayward squirrel went,

                                Taking delight that he could spring;

                                And he, with that low whinnying sound

                                That is like laughter, sprang again

                                And so to the other tree at a bound.

                                Nor the tame will, nor timid brain,

                                Nor heavy knitting of the brow

                                Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb

                                And threw him up to laugh on the bough;

                                No govermnent appointed him.