THE KING OF THE CATS.[1]
The night was tempestuous, and dreary, and dark,
With long travel a stranger was tired,
When he saw, o’er the wild, a faint glimmering spark,
And eagerly bending his course to the mark,
He arrived at the object desired.
A time-fretted chapel illumined he spied,
Whence wailings came sad to the ear,
The traveller he gazed, and had like to have died,
When he saw such a sight as all fancy defied,
And appalled him with wonder and fear.
An assemblage of cats was convened round a fire,
Where the corse of a Tabby was laid,
In full state, and arrayed in funereal attire,
With all the proud symbols which monarchs require,
For a posthumous piece of parade.
The stranger escaped from so horrid a sight,
And found shelter at Lennox’s board;
But his host, on beholding his terrified plight,
Would needs be informed of the cause of his fright,
When good wine had his courage restored.
His story he told to the wonder of all,
When a four-footed catcher of rats,
Who lay stroking his face on the hearth of the hall,
To the chimney-top flew with this horrible squall—
“Then by hell! I am King of the Cats.”
- ↑ This is founded on a story related in the Letters attributed to the second Lord Lyttelton, vol. ii. letter 39, ed. 1782.