THE CAT 



On the Death of a Favourite Cat, Drowned 

 in a Tub of Gold-Fishes 



'Twas on a lofty vase's side, 

 Where China's gayest art had dyed 



The azure flowers that blow, 

 Demurest of the tabby kind, 

 The pensive Selima, reclined, 



Gazed on the lake below. 



Her conscious tail her joy declared; 

 The fair round face, the snowy beard, 



The velvet of her paws, 

 Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 

 Her ears of jet and emerald eyes, 



She saw, and purred applause. 



Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide 

 Two angel forms were seen to glide, — 



The Genii of the stream: 

 Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, 

 Through richest purple, to the view 



Betrayed a golden gleam. 



The hapless nymph with wonder saw: 

 A whisker first, and then a claw, 



With many an ardent wish, 

 She stretched in vain to reach the prize; 

 What female heart can gold despise? 



What cat's averse to fish? 



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