The sportive Tree Calf here we see,He builds his nest up in a tree;To this strange dwelling-place he cleavesBecause he is so fond of leaves.‘Twas his ancestral cow, I trow,Jumped o’er the moon, so long ago.But he is not so great a rover,Though at the last he runs to cover.

Time Flies are well-known insects; sages claimThat Tempus Fugit is their rightful name.When we’re on idleness or pleasure bent,They sting our conscience and our fun prevent.We hear them winter mornings ere we rise,And oft in fly-time we observe Time Flies.

The Bookworm’s an uninteresting grub,Whether he’s all alone or in a club.Of stupid books which seem to us a bore,The Bookworm will devour the very core.Did Solomon or somebody affirmThe early reed-bird catches the bookworm?

The Iron Spider is an insect strange,He loves to stand upon a red-hot range.Unlike his race, he’s not an octoped,He has but three legs and he has no head.Had this but been the kind Miss Muffet saw‘Twould not have filled the maiden with such awe.

Here’s the Round Robin, round as any ball;You scarce can see his head or tail at all.He’s not a carrier-pigeon, though he bringsImportant messages beneath his wings.And ’tis this freak of ornithologyThey mean who say, “A little bird told me.”

The Cat O’ Nine Tails is not very nice,–No good at all at catching rats and mice;She eats no fish, though living on the sea,And no one’s friend or pet she seems to be.Yet oft she makes it lively for poor Jack,–Curls round his legs, and jumps upon his back.

The Common Swallow is so swift of flight,We scarcely see him ere he’s out of sight.One does not make a summer, it is true,But many of them cause a fall or two.The Swallow’s strong when he is in his prime,And yet a man can down him every time.

The Cricket Bat is very often seenFlying perchance around the village green;But unlike many other bats, its flightIs always made by day and not by night.There may be one exception though,–and thatIs when it’s aimed at some stray neighboring Cat.

See the Welsh Rabbit–he is bred on cheese;(Or cheese on bread, whichever way you please.)Although he’s tough, he looks so mild, who’d thinkThat a strong man from this small beast would shrink?But close behind him follows the nightmare,Beware of them, they are a frightful pair.

In country villages is foundThe Apple Bee with buzzing sound.And when our ears it does regaleWe find a sting is in its tale.As to its food,–the Apple BeeIs fond of doughnuts, cheese and tea.

This funny little Mackerel KitIs not like other cats a bit;She cannot mew or scratch or purr,She has no whiskers and no fur.Yet, like all cats, her dearest wishIs just to be filled up with fish;But (and this isn’t so feline)She always takes them steeped in brine.

Here are two Fire Dogs–they are queer, indeed;They seem to come of a three-legged breed.They have no tails, their bark is on their back;They hunt in couples, never in a pack.The day’s work over, ’tis a pleasant sightTo find them waiting by the fire at night.

This noble beast’s impressive form is seen‘Mong the possessions of a king or queen.Hard-favored, yet so valuable is he,He’s ever kept beneath a lock and key.And, since his temper can’t find vent in speech,He stamps and punches everything in reach.

This is a Jail-bird. Isn’t it a shameTo keep him in a cage and try to tameHis wild desires for freedom? See him droopBehind his bars. He wants to fly the coop.But to beguile his tedious, lonely hoursKind ladies bring him nosegays of bright flowers.

The Tomahawk’s a fearsome bird, we deem;Though feathered tribes hold him in great esteem;A bird of prey, he whizzes through the air,And clutches his pale victim by the hair.Gory and grewsome,–he is the mainstayOf the historic novel of to-day.

This is the Battering Ram, a fearful beast,I think he weighs a thousand tons at least.Stronger than any other kind of butter,He goes his way calmly, without a flutter.Big as an elephant, bigger than a horse,He seems the best example of brute force.

In ocean waters the Sea Puss is found,Cat-like, forever chasing round and round.She has no claws, but crouching sly and lowShe stealthily puts out her undertow.And when an old seadog comes in her wayI’ll warrant you there is the deuce to pay!

The Flying Buttress, every day and night,Continues in his long, unwearied flight.He’s not a song-bird, but he’s said to beFamed for his beauty and his Symmetry.He frequents an old abbey or a manse;The ostrich eats him if he gets a chance.

The Traveling Crane’s a bird, of course,Yet he possesses wondrous force.A bird of burden he must be,He lifts and pulls so mightily.And sometimes he will grasp his prey,And with it rise and soar away.His plumage is not fine, but then,He’s of the greatest use to men.

This is the merry Golf Lynx, as you see;An amiable beast, and fond of tee.Indigenous to all the country round,His snaky length lies prone along the ground.It is the fashion o’er this beast to rave,But have a care, lest you become his slave.