THE CAT 



On a Cat, Killed as she was Robbing a 

 Dove-Cote 



Poor Puss is gone ! — 'tis Fate's decree, 



Yet I must still her loss deplore ; 

 For dearer than a child was she, 



And ne'er shall I behold her more. 



With many a sad, presaging tear, 



This morn I saw her steal away, 

 While she slipped off without a fear, 



Except that she should miss her prey. 



I saw her to the dove-house climb, 

 With cautious feet and slow she stept, 



Resolved to balance loss of time 

 By eating faster than she crept. 



Her subtle foes were on the watch, 



And marked her course, with fury fraught; 



And while she hoped the birds to catch, 

 An arrow's point the huntress caught. 



In fancy she had slain them all, 



And drunk their blood and sucked their breath; 

 Alas ! she only got a fall, 



And only drank the draught of death. 



42 



