Affrighted, from his game and gun,

Had he but heard, in woods remote,

Park's incongruous jangling note,

Wild screeching on the western gale,

An unpoetic dismal wail:

Nor stopp'd in his despairing flight,

In San Jacinto, e'en, to fight;

But, rushing wildly and forlorn,

E'en to the billows, off Cape Horn,

Most likely there, himself had drown'd,

In terror of the doleful sound.

[Pg 10]

In western wilds, had Daniel Boon

But heard, for once, the lecherous loon,

He would have dropp'd his axe and gun,

And, to the eastward, rapid run;

Nor stay'd, in all his fearful flight,

For wind or storm, through day and night,

Till he some civil spot could reach,

Uncursed by Park's dolorous screech.

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