THE CANADIAN PORCUPINE.
It climbs the trees and strips them clean
Of leaf, and fruit, and bark;
Then, creeping where no life is seen,
O'er branches grim and stark,
Begins anew, the bark beneath,
The endless grind of claws and teeth,
Till trees, denuded, naked rise
Like spectres painted on the skies.
Fretful it may be, as its quills are sharp,
But with its teeth it stills the sylvan harp.
