Catoninetales A Domestic Epic: By Hattie Brown: A young lady of colour lately deceased at the age of 14 [i.e. W. J. Linton] |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. | DROWNED |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
 | Catoninetales |  |
32
DROWNED
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Shakspere.
Never was cat drowned that could see the shore. Proverb.
- Catalepsy—When the cat-ropes are over tight in the fit. Heart-action however may continue.
- Catapasm—v.a. To dust: e.g. a boy's jacket. Found efficacious in cases of feint.
- Cataplasm—Mustard or other provocative or preventive according to the mode of application. An epithem.
- Catsup—Favourite drink of Cats; made of mushrooms.
- Catonic—The old Roman hari-kari.
- Catapult—An engine of peculiar cataballative quality. P. Cox Headlong Haul.
- Catadupe—When a Cat is fooled by being flung into the river, as in our second fytte.
- Catamaran—A flat-bottom'd Cat's boat for fishing.
- Catandromous—Going seaward, returning salmon-like.
- Catabasioned—v.p. To be preserved, in sea-catacombs pickled, as a relic.
- Catalysed—Thawed, resolved into adieu. Shakspere.
- Catagmatic—With a view to bone-mending.
GLOSSARY AND TABLE OF EXPLANATIONS for the occasions of the unlearned and undictionaried: (authorities varied.)
33
The cuckoo-clock proclaims our supper-time:
Not often at this hour doth Robyn leave.
Surely he must have heard that cheery chime!
Where is he wandering this wintry eve?
Not often at this hour doth Robyn leave.
Surely he must have heard that cheery chime!
Where is he wandering this wintry eve?
Stare not at me apostrophizing so
Our dear dead Robyn of whom late I spoke
As broken-hearted! He is dead, I know;
But hearts are patchwork, to be mended broke.
Our dear dead Robyn of whom late I spoke
As broken-hearted! He is dead, I know;
But hearts are patchwork, to be mended broke.
Yes! he was dead. The morrow of that day,
More truly of that sad eventful night,
Found was he, stark and stiff; my sister May
Ran to me horrent-hair'd in tremulous fright.
More truly of that sad eventful night,
Found was he, stark and stiff; my sister May
Ran to me horrent-hair'd in tremulous fright.
'Twas catalepsy, said they,—a mistake!
The cataleptic is devoid of sense:
Dead or alive his sensitive heart would ache.
And some brute said, may be it's all pretence.
The cataleptic is devoid of sense:
Dead or alive his sensitive heart would ache.
And some brute said, may be it's all pretence.
34
We catapasm'd him,—tried sorts of salts,—
Hot irons,—brimstone baths,—of no avail:
We might as well have taught the Cat to waltz
Steeping in catechu his stiffen'd taile.
Hot irons,—brimstone baths,—of no avail:
We might as well have taught the Cat to waltz
Steeping in catechu his stiffen'd taile.
We wrapp'd him in a potent cataplasm:
It took the skin clean off his stomach fair,
But gave him no relief. One wrinkling spasm,
And he was off again. like a singed hair.
It took the skin clean off his stomach fair,
But gave him no relief. One wrinkling spasm,
And he was off again. like a singed hair.
At length he oped his melancholy eyes,
One little crack in the iris of our hope;
Sigh'd, wink'd and sneezed, so wink'd again and sigh'd
As taking side with life: as one the rope
One little crack in the iris of our hope;
Sigh'd, wink'd and sneezed, so wink'd again and sigh'd
As taking side with life: as one the rope
Has fail'd to finish on the gallows tree.
Such similes be hang'd! We brought him to;
But knew three lives were gone, yes! surely three,
A third of his nine tailes, if tailes be true.
Such similes be hang'd! We brought him to;
But knew three lives were gone, yes! surely three,
A third of his nine tailes, if tailes be true.
And since that death he was an alter'd Cat:
Took much to drink, catsup; stay'd out o' nights,
In spirit haunting her. Blame not for that!
He only did according to his lights.
Took much to drink, catsup; stay'd out o' nights,
In spirit haunting her. Blame not for that!
He only did according to his lights.
Heart-broken quite, his little bark a wreck,
Grown cynical, he reck'd not where he sail'd:
Some times his fancy paced hope's frailest deck,
Others his fancy's tether was curtail'd.
Grown cynical, he reck'd not where he sail'd:
Some times his fancy paced hope's frailest deck,
Others his fancy's tether was curtail'd.
Who, who shall medicine a mind diseased?
Throw physic to the dogs! Why catechise?
We gave him sedatives,—he only sneezed;
Gave morphia,—and we slept not for his cries.
Throw physic to the dogs! Why catechise?
35
Gave morphia,—and we slept not for his cries.
For in his dreams he saw that heartless thing
That slew him; then did he unsheathe his claws,
His taile stood up on end, and he would fling
His wild legs out without a thought of pause.
That slew him; then did he unsheathe his claws,
His taile stood up on end, and he would fling
His wild legs out without a thought of pause.
And day and night he'd wander, sighing sore
For that so beauteous and most faithless sake.
Dead was he, could we but have said no more:
Alive, a set of bare bones with an ache.
For that so beauteous and most faithless sake.
Dead was he, could we but have said no more:
Alive, a set of bare bones with an ache.
And he perhaps had slain himself again:
Once, twice, upon the sharp sword of his woe
Had harikaried, but for this refrain—
He might miscarry throwing six, you know.
Once, twice, upon the sharp sword of his woe
Had harikaried, but for this refrain—
He might miscarry throwing six, you know.
No laws of honour or the best Japan
Prescribe continuous Catonics, so he
Dead might survive, to endure for yet a span
The hopeless lover's love-lorn agony.
Prescribe continuous Catonics, so he
Dead might survive, to endure for yet a span
The hopeless lover's love-lorn agony.
From the poetic vision nought is hid:
This asking why he comes not is a sham;
I knew while looking at the tea-pot lid
He could not come, no more than a dead clam.
This asking why he comes not is a sham;
I knew while looking at the tea-pot lid
He could not come, no more than a dead clam.
The eyes of sense were on the coffee-grounds;
My spirit track'd him as he slowly pass'd
Along a field-side, then with sudden bounds
Beheld him over the fences, till at last
My spirit track'd him as he slowly pass'd
Along a field-side, then with sudden bounds
Beheld him over the fences, till at last
36
I watch'd him by the river, glancing down
Sadly upon the tide, high tied with frost;
I knew the ice was thin, to him unknown;
I knew if he should try it he'd be lost.
Sadly upon the tide, high tied with frost;
I knew the ice was thin, to him unknown;
I knew if he should try it he'd be lost.
I saw him gaze (O that disconsolate gaze!)
Upon the desolate waste; then in a trice
On his four legs his heavy body raise
And catapult-like heave it on the ice.
Upon the desolate waste; then in a trice
On his four legs his heavy body raise
And catapult-like heave it on the ice.
A cataract supervened. I thought his eyes
Must suffer from the cataract or the scratch;
I thought of his weak health,—'twas so unwise
To marshal strength a mere catarrh to catch.
Must suffer from the cataract or the scratch;
I thought of his weak health,—'twas so unwise
To marshal strength a mere catarrh to catch.
When last we cataduped him he came back:
Is he catandromous now? To let him through
The ice was thin enough, but not to crack
From underneath. What will poor Robyn do?
Is he catandromous now? To let him through
The ice was thin enough, but not to crack
From underneath. What will poor Robyn do?
O my, Kok Robyn! why is Death thy foe?
Where art thou now? my Cat, my gracious!
Under the grim flood of Cocytus slow
Thy dwelling is in Erebus' black house.
Where art thou now? my Cat, my gracious!
Under the grim flood of Cocytus slow
Thy dwelling is in Erebus' black house.
There the young imps of Night, first wife of Death,
Play “cat” with thee, and find their fell delight
Striking thee up, seeing thee out of breath
And falling headlong like a tail-less kite.
Play “cat” with thee, and find their fell delight
Striking thee up, seeing thee out of breath
And falling headlong like a tail-less kite.
Reflection brings thee to thy briny grave,
Dump'd on a heap of grimy oyster-shells,
Where o'er thy corse funereal sea-weeds wave,
And nasty sea-nymphs hourly ring thy knells.
Dump'd on a heap of grimy oyster-shells,
37
And nasty sea-nymphs hourly ring thy knells.
A damp ghost in a catamaran he roams
A-fishing through the forests of the sea,
His catabasion'd bones in the catacombs
With piscid skeletons of high degree.
A-fishing through the forests of the sea,
His catabasion'd bones in the catacombs
With piscid skeletons of high degree.
Or if not yet quite thoroughly catalysed,
Can he get flesh on clams? O Cat alive!
Albeit some squalid cat-fish so apprised
May hospitably for thy health contrive.
Can he get flesh on clams? O Cat alive!
Albeit some squalid cat-fish so apprised
May hospitably for thy health contrive.
Mayhap some blue-hair'd Nereid pick'd him up,
Catagmatic: on her cold knees he stays,
Learning on sailor sausage how to sup,
And sea-cow's milk. I hate their fishy ways.
Catagmatic: on her cold knees he stays,
Learning on sailor sausage how to sup,
And sea-cow's milk. I hate their fishy ways.
Perchance some whale like Jonah gobbled him:
Will he return like Jonah? Who shall say?
Five-lived he roves in those recesses dim,
Praying for him who took him for a prey.
Will he return like Jonah? Who shall say?
Five-lived he roves in those recesses dim,
Praying for him who took him for a prey.
If the same whale as Jonah's, may it please
The Prophet, might such be his horrorscope!
That whale, so is it writ in Portuguese,
Doubled as Jonah's bark the Cape Good-Hope.
The Prophet, might such be his horrorscope!
That whale, so is it writ in Portuguese,
Doubled as Jonah's bark the Cape Good-Hope.
I can not think him lost to me: perhaps
Some cataclysm may lend a helping hand,
Picking our darling's bones from marine laps,
Throwing him up upon his native land.
Some cataclysm may lend a helping hand,
Picking our darling's bones from marine laps,
Throwing him up upon his native land.
38
Time has to show. But, Hattie! while your gaze
Intreats the Future for his welcome ghost,
The tea is cooling. And her father says—
The Cat be d---d (that's drown'd)—Pass me the toast!
Intreats the Future for his welcome ghost,
The tea is cooling. And her father says—
The Cat be d---d (that's drown'd)—Pass me the toast!
| Catoninetales | |