Classic Poem

WRITTEN THE WINTER AFTER THE INSTALLATION AT OXFORD 1793 .

Toll on, toll on, old Bell! I'll neither pass
The cold and weary hour in heartless rites,
Nor doze away the time. The fire burns bright;
And, bless the maker of this Windsor-Chair!
(Of polish'd cherry, elbow'd, saddle-seated,)
This is the throne of comfort. I will sit
And study here devoutly; — not my Euclid, —
For Heaven forbid that I should discompose
That Spider's excellent geometry!
I'll study thee, Puss! Not to make a picture;
I hate your canvass cats, and dogs, and fools,
Themes that disgrace the pencil. Thou shalt give
A moral subject, Puss. Come, look at me; —
Lift up thine emerald eyes! Ay, purr away!
For I am praising thee, I tell thee, Puss,
And Cats as well as Kings like flattery.
For three whole days I heard an old Fur-gown
Bepraised, that made a Duke a Chancellor;
Bepraised in prose it was, bepraised in verse;
Lauded in pious Latin to the skies;
Kudos'd egregiously in heathen Greek;
In sapphics sweetly incensed; glorified
In proud alcaics; in hexameters
Applauded to the very Galleries,
That did applaud again, whose thunder-claps,
Higher and longer, with redoubling peals,
Rung when they heard the illustrious furbelow'd
Heroically in Popean rhyme
Tee-ti-tum'd, in Miltonic blank bemouth'd;
Prose, verse, Greek, Latin, English, rhyme and blank
Apotheosi-chancellor'd in all,
Till Eulogy, with all her wealth of words,
Grew bankrupt, all-too-prodigal of praise,
And panting Panegyric toil'd in vain,
O'er-task'd in keeping pace with such desert.

Though I can poetize right willingly,
Puss, on thy well-streak'd coat, to that Fur-gown
I was not guilty of a single line:
'Twas an old furbelow, that would hang loose,
And wrap round any one, as it were made
To fit him only, so it were but tied
With a blue ribbon.
What a power there is
In beauty! Within these forbidden walls
Thou hast thy range at will, and when perchance
The Fellows see thee, Puss, they overlook
Inhibitory laws, or haply think
The statute was not made for Cats like thee;
For thou art beautiful as ever Cat
That wantoned in the joy of kittenhood.
Ay, stretch thy claws, thou democratic beast, —
I like thine independence. Treat thee well,
Thou art as playful as young Innocence;
But if we act the governor, and break
The social compact, Nature gave those claws,
And taught thee how to use them. Man, methinks,
Master and slave alike, might learn from thee
A salutary lesson: but the one
Abuses wickedly his power unjust;
The other crouches, spaniel-like, and licks
The hand that strikes him. Wiser animal,
I look at thee, familiarized, yet free;
And, thinking that a child with gentle hand
Leads by a string the large-limb'd Elephant,
With mingled indignation and contempt
Behold his drivers goad the biped beast.