ORIGINAL POETRY. 
ae 
ECLOGUE I. 
MORNING; OR, THE CAT. 
Ser, where the lovely Romeo lies, 
In that sweet twilight of the mind 
Which is, and yet is not; 
He is not quite to sleep resign’d, 
For half he opes his blinking eyes, 
To watch around the spot ; 
And see what soon may be his lot. 
What makes him thus his vigils keep? 
Why do his looks thus stray P 
Why can’t he from that half-glass door 
Keep his sad eyes away ? 3 
And why can he not peaceful sleep, 
Nor thus upon the future pore, 
In thoughts sublime, that highly soar ? 
Visions of scraps, delicious bits 
Of ham, or veal, or bread, 
With broth, or milk, or coffee, mix’d, 
Fly hovering round his head ; 
And sweetly soothe him as he sits, 
In pensive meditation fix’d 
On cares that lie his hopes betwixt. 
