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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
Of a thousand Standers-by, .
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the Crowd ?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!
'Tis a pretty Baby-treat ; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet ; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other Play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings, (In the sun or under shade Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this Orchard's narrow space, And this Vale so blithe a place ; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day : Some are sleeping ; some in Bands Travelled into distant Lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood; And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.
- Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung with head towards the ground,
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!
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.
If you look to vale or hill,
If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighbouring Rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitters hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain ;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure ;
Creature none can she decoy.
Into open sign of joy :
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near ?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety ?
Yet, whate’er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every Creature ;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show,
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks, –
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Laura's face ;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
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, Or an Infant's laughing eye Sharing in the ecstasy ; I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss ; Keep the sprighty soul awake, And have faculties to take, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a jocund thought ; Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.