The Retired Cat.

Of depth enough, and none to spare,
Invited her to slumber there;

Puss with delight beyond expression
Surveyed the scene, and took possession.
Recumbent at her ease, ere long,
And lulled by her own humdrum song,
She left the cares of life behind,

And slept as she would sleep her last,
When in came, housewifely inclined,
The chambermaid, and shut it fast;
By no malignity impelled,

But all unconscious whom it held.
Awakened by the shock (cried Puss)

"Was ever cat attended thus?

The open drawer was left, I see,

Merely to prove a nest for me,

For soon as I was well composed,

Then came the maid, and it was closed.

How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sweet!

Oh, what a delicate retreat!

I will resign myself to rest

Till Sol, declining in the west,

Shall call to supper, when, no doubt,
Susan will come and let me out."

The evening came, the sun descended,
And Puss remained still unattended.
The night rolled tardily away,

(With her indeed 'twas never day),

The sprightly morn her course renewed,

The evening gray again ensued,

And puss came into mind no more

Than if entombed the day before.

With hunger pinched, and pinched for room

She now presaged approaching doom,

77

Nor slept a single wink, or purred,
Conscious of jeopardy incurred.

That night, by chance, the poet watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching;

His noble heart went pit-a-pat,

And to himself he said-"What's that?"

He drew the curtain at his side,

And forth he peeped, but nothing spied.
Yet, by his ear directed, guessed
Something imprisoned in the chest,
And, doubtful what, with prudent care
Resolved it should continue there.

At length a voice which well he knew,
A long and melancholy mew,
Saluting his poetic ears,

Consoled him and dispelled his fears:
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
He 'gan in haste the drawers t'explore,
The lowest first, and without stop
The rest in order to the top.

For 'tis a truth well known to most,

That whatsoever thing is lost,

We seek it, ere it come to light,

In every cranny but the right.

Forth skipped the cat, not now replete
As erst with airly self-conceit.
Nor in her own fond apprehension
A theme for all the world's attention,
But modest, sober, cured of all
Her notions hyperbolical,
And wishing for a place of rest
Anything rather than a chest.
Then stepped the poet into bed
With this reflection in his head :-

The Kitten and the Falling Leaves.

MORAL.

Beware of too sublime a sense

Of your own worth and consequence :
The man who dreams himself so great,
And his importance of such weight,
That all around, in all that's done,
Must move and act for him alone,
Will learn in school of tribulation

The folly of his expectation.

COWPER.

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.

(HAT way look, my infant, lo!

What a pretty baby show!

See the kitten on the wall

Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves--one-two-and three-

From the lofty elder tree!

Through the calm and frosty air

Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round, they sink,
Softly, slowly one might think,
From the motions that are made,

Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or fairy hither tending,-
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,

In his wavering parachute.

-But the kitten how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow

79

Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one—
Now they stop; and there are none-
What intenseness of desire

In her upward eye of fire!

With a tiger-leap half way

Now she meets the coming prey,

Lets it go as fast and then

Has it in her power again:

Now she works with three or four,

Like an Indian conjuror;

Quick as he in feats of art,

Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,

Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care

For the plaudits of the crowd?

Over happy to be proud,

Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!

'Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;
Here, for neither babe nor me,
Other playmate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun, or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade),
And with busy revellings,

Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale, so blithe a place;

The Kitten and the Falling Leaves.

Multitudes are swept away,
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands:
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,

All have laid their mirth aside.
-Where is he that giddy sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;

Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;

Hung with head towards the ground,
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;

Lithest, gaudiest harlequin !

Prettiest tumbler ever seen!

Light of heart, and light of limb,

What is now become of him?

Lambs that through the mountains went

Frisking, bleating merriment,

When the year was in its prime,

They are sobered by this time.

If you look to vale or hill,

81