204 SELECT POETRY

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
Or pippin’s russet peel 5

And when his juicy salads failed,
Sliced carrots pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching showers
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away ;

Dozing out all his idle noons,
And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour’s sake,
For he would oft beguile

My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

But now beneath this walnut shade,
He finds his long last home,

And waits, in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.

She, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save ;
And, partner once of Tiney’s box,
Must soon partake his grave.
Cowper