On a Favourite Cat, Drowned
in a Tub of Gold Fishes
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771)
'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 purr'd 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
Thro' richest
purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapless Nymph
with wonder saw:
A whisker first
and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd
in vain to reach the prize.
What female
heart can gold despise?
What Cat's averse to fish?
Presumptuous
Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd,
again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate
sat by, and smiled.)
The slipp'ry
verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging
from the flood
She mew'd to
ev'ry wat'ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came,
no Nereid stirr'd:
Nor cruel Tom,
nor Susan heard.
A Fav'rite has not friend!
From hence, ye
Beauties undeceived,
Know, one false
step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that
tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless
hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
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