SELECT POETRY

The sprightly moon her course renewed,
The evening gray again ensued ;

And Puss came into mind no more

Than if entombed the day before.

With hunger pinched, and pinched for room
She now presaged approaching doom,

Nor slept a single wink or purred,

Feeling the risk she had incurred.

That night, by chance, the poet watching,
Heard an inexpressible scratching ;
His noble heart went pit-a-pat,
And to himself he said, “‘ What's that ?”
He drew the curtain at his side,
And forth he peeped, but nothing spied ;
Yet, by his ear directed, guessed
Something imprisoned in the chest,
And doubtful what, with prudent care,
Resolved it should continue there.
At length a voice which well he knew,
A long and melancholy mew,
Saluting his poetic ears,
Consoled him and dispelled his fears ,
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
And ‘gan! in haste the drawers explore,
The lowest first, and without stop
The rest in order, to the top ;
For ‘tis a truth well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it ere it come to light
In every corner but the right.

1 Gan—began.