Still is the toiling hand of Care;

'The panting herds repose :
Yet hark, how through the peopled air

The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,

And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim

Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation's sober eye

Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter through life's little day,

In Fortune's varying colours drest: Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, Or chill’d by Age, their airy dance

They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,

The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?

A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets

No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-
We frolic while 'tis May.

ON THE

DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,

DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

"Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd.

The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin'd,

Gaz’d on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had sbe gaz'd; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden glean.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
A whisker first, and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?

What Cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smild)
The slipp’ry verge her feet beguila,

She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat’ry God,

12,

od Some speedy aid to send. :) No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirrid : Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.

A fay'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,

Nor all, that glisters, gold.

DRAWN BY RICHARD WESTALL,RA. ENGRAVED BY W RADCLIFFE: PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY:

DEC. 1. 1820.