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ON THE DEATH OF HIS FAVORITE

CAT.

THOMAS GRAY.

"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 armor's Tyrian hue
Through 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 prizeWhat 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 slippery verge her feet beguiled-
She tumbled headlong in!

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry watery god
Some speedy aid to send:
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd,
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard,-
A favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold:

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all that glistens, gold!

LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD.

(The Pool of the Diving Friar.)

T. L. PEACOCK.

Gwenwynwyn withdrew from the feasts of his hall;

He slept very late, he prayed not at all;

He pondered, and wandered, and studied alone; And sought, night and day, the philosopher's

stone.

He found it at length, and he made its first proof
By turning to gold all the lead of his roof;
Then he bought some magnanimous heroes, all
fire,

Who lived but to smite and be smitten for hire.

With these, on the plains like a torrent he broke; He filled the whole country with flame and with smoke;

He killed all the swine, and he broached all the wine;

He drove off the sheep, and the beeves, and the

kine.

He took castles and towns; he cut short limbs and

lives;

He made orphans and widows of children and wives:

This course many years he triumphantly ran, And did mischief enough to be called a great

man.

When, at last, he had gained all for which he had striven,

He bethought him of buying a passport to heaven;

Good and great as he was, yet he did not well know

How soon, or which way, his great spirit might go.

He sought the grey friars, who, beside a wild stream,

Refected their frames on a primitive scheme; The gravest and wisest Gwenwynwyn found out, All lonely and ghostly, and angling for trout.

Below the white dash of a mighty cascade, Where a pool of the stream a deep resting-place made,

And rock-rooted oaks stretched their branches on

high,

The friar stood musing and throwing his fly.

To him said Gwenwynwyn, "Hold, father, here's store,

For the good of the church, and the good of the poor;"

Then he gave him the stone; but, ere more he could speak,

Wrath came on the friar, so holy and meek.

He had stretched forth his hand to receive the red gold,

And he thought himself mocked by Gwenwynwyn the Bold;

And in scorn of the gift, and in rage at the giver,
He jerked it immediately into the river.

Gwenwynwyn, aghast, not a syllable spake;
The philosopher's stone made a duck and a drake;
Two systems of circles a moment were seen,
And the stream smoothed them off, as they never
had been.

Gwenwynwyn regained, and uplifted, his voice: "Oh friar, grey friar, full rash was thy choice;

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