The Cricket

Little inmate, full of mirth,

Chirping on my kitchen hearth,

Wheresoe'er be thine abode,

Always harbinger of good,

Pay me for thy warm retreat

With a song more soft and sweet;

In return thou shalt receive

Such a strain as I can give.

Thus thy praise shall be expressed,

Inoffensive, welcome guest!

While the rat is on the scout,

And the mouse with curious snout,

With what vermin else infest

Ev'ry dish, and spoil the best;

Frisking thus before the fire,

Thou hast all thine heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be

Formed as if akin to thee,

Thou surpassest, happier far,

Happiest grasshoppers that are;

Theirs is but a summer's song,

Thine endures the winter long,

Unimpaired, and shrill and clear,

Melody throughout the year.

Neither night nor dawn of day

Puts a period to thy play!

Sing, then, and extend thy span

Far beyond the date of man.

Wretched man, whose years are spent

In repining, discontent,

Lives not, aged though he be,

Half a span, compared with thee.