-But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! First at one, and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow; There are many now-now one Now they stop; and there are none— What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again : Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian Conjuror; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand Standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the Crowd? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! "Tis a pretty Baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet: Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other Play-mate can I see. Chirp and song, and murmurings, Never more to breathe the day: And, among the Kinds that keep All have laid their mirth aside. Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out; Hung with head towards the ground, Bound himself, and then unbound; Prettiest Tumbler ever seen! Light of heart, and light of limb, What is now become of Him? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sobered by this time. If you look to vale or hill, If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighbouring Rill, That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitters hill and plain, And the air is calm in vain; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Creature none can she decoy Is it that they have a fear Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell In the impenetrable cell Of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every Creature; Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Laura's face; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless Pair! careless season And I will have my Spite of melancholy reason, Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Hours of perfect gladsomeness. -Pleased by any random toy; I would fare like that or this, Keep the sprightly soul awake, And have faculties to take, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a jocund thought; Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf. |