Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute. 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 Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the Crowd? Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! 'Tis a pretty Baby-treat; Chirp and song, and murmurings, With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside. Where is he that giddy Sprite, Made such wanton spoil and rout, 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. Save a little neighbouring Rill, That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitters hill and plain, Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell Of the silent heart which Nature That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless Pair! And I will have my careless season Spite of melancholy reason, Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfect gladsomeness. Pleased by any random toy; By a kitten's busy joy, I would fare like that or this, Keep the sprighty soul awake, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf. |