Catoninetales A Domestic Epic: By Hattie Brown: A young lady of colour lately deceased at the age of 14 [i.e. W. J. Linton] |
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 | Catoninetales |  |
My Robyn! — Every dame
Who cattish blood could claim
Held Robyn well in mind;
As favourably inclined
Cat damosels were also.
Many a pleasant throe
He flung in Misses' hearts,
So perfect were his parts,
So lovely eke his looks,
Like cats in gospel books;
And his demeanour staid,
That never properest maid
Need be of him affray'd,
So debonair and meek.
He had too little cheek.
And his best coat so sleek!
He never miss'd a week,
Nay! never miss'd a day,
To brush the dust away.
His sleekness took no hurt,
For the least speck of dirt
He wiped off with his tongue.
His whiskers too were long,
Becoming one so young;
His eyen were so clear;
And on each pretty ear
There was a tip of black,
The same along his back;
And his fine mottled sides
Were beauteous as hides
Of tortoises, or shells
Which whosoever dwells
By the sea-shore is apt
To value. When he lapp'd
His cream you did perceive
'Twixt jaws a foe could reive
His tongue's rich coral red,
Fit tongue of so rare head!
And when he flung his taile,
As thresher throws his flail,
You felt he could not fail
In fight with other male.
O Catte delightful! hail
Even to that form so pale,
Dim and untortoiseshell'd,
In visions oft beheld!
My grief is partly quell'd
By history of his fate,
The taile I here relate.
Who cattish blood could claim
Held Robyn well in mind;
As favourably inclined
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Many a pleasant throe
He flung in Misses' hearts,
So perfect were his parts,
So lovely eke his looks,
Like cats in gospel books;
And his demeanour staid,
That never properest maid
Need be of him affray'd,
So debonair and meek.
He had too little cheek.
And his best coat so sleek!
He never miss'd a week,
Nay! never miss'd a day,
To brush the dust away.
His sleekness took no hurt,
For the least speck of dirt
He wiped off with his tongue.
His whiskers too were long,
Becoming one so young;
His eyen were so clear;
And on each pretty ear
There was a tip of black,
The same along his back;
And his fine mottled sides
Were beauteous as hides
Of tortoises, or shells
Which whosoever dwells
By the sea-shore is apt
To value. When he lapp'd
His cream you did perceive
'Twixt jaws a foe could reive
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Fit tongue of so rare head!
And when he flung his taile,
As thresher throws his flail,
You felt he could not fail
In fight with other male.
O Catte delightful! hail
Even to that form so pale,
Dim and untortoiseshell'd,
In visions oft beheld!
My grief is partly quell'd
By history of his fate,
The taile I here relate.
| Catoninetales | |