THOMAS GRAY
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun:
Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the Good how far but far above the Great.
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��468 On a Favourite Cat y Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes
SWAS on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the" tabby kind, The pensive Selima reclined,
Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared; 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 she gazed; but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream. Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Thro' richest purple to the view
Betiay'd a golden gleam. 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?
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