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The Cat's Coronach<br />
And art thou fallen, and lowly laid,<br />
The housewife's boast, <strong>the</strong> cellar's aid,<br />
Great mouser of thy day<br />
Whose rolling eyes and aspect dread<br />
Whole whiskered legions oft have fled<br />
In midnight battle fray.<br />
There brea<strong>the</strong>s no kitten of thy line<br />
=THE CAT<br />
But would have given his life for thine.<br />
Oh, could I match <strong>the</strong> peerless strain<br />
That wailed for black Sir Roderic slain,<br />
Or that, whose milder tone,<br />
O'er Gertrude, fall'n in beauty's prime,<br />
The grace of Pennsylvania's clime,<br />
Raised <strong>the</strong> sepulchral moan;<br />
Such strain might burst th' eternal bar,<br />
And reach thy spirit from afar.<br />
But thou, remote from pain and strife,<br />
Now reap'st <strong>the</strong> meed of virtuous life<br />
In some Elysian grove,<br />
Where endless streams of milk abound,<br />
And soft valerian paints <strong>the</strong> ground<br />
Thy joyous footsteps rove;<br />
With Tasso's <strong>cat</strong> by poems named,<br />
And Whittington's, in story famed,<br />
Requies <strong>cat</strong> in pace. Anonymous.<br />
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