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THE CAT<br />
Sad Memories<br />
They tell me I am beautiful, <strong>the</strong>y praise my silken<br />
hair,<br />
My little feet that silently slip on from stair to stair<br />
They praise my pretty, trustful face, and innocent<br />
grey eye;<br />
Fond hands caress me oftentimes,— yet would that I<br />
might die<br />
Why was I born to be abhorr'd of man, and bird, and<br />
beast ?<br />
The bulfinch marks me stealing by, and straight his<br />
song hath ceased;<br />
The shrewmouse eyes me shudderingly, <strong>the</strong>n flees;<br />
and, worse than that,<br />
The house-dog he flees after me,— why was I born a<br />
<strong>cat</strong>?<br />
Men prize <strong>the</strong> heartless hound who quits dry-eyed his<br />
native land,<br />
Who wags a mercenary tail, and licks a tyrant hand.<br />
The leal true <strong>cat</strong> <strong>the</strong>y prize not, that, if e'er compelTd<br />
to roam,<br />
Still flies, when let out of <strong>the</strong> bag, precipitately home.<br />
They call me cruel. Do I know if mouse or song-<br />
bird feels?<br />
in