MISCELLANEOUS.

AN

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO SIR WM. BENNET,
BART., OF GRUBBAT.1

My trembling muse your honour does address,
That it's a bold attempt most humbly I confess ;
If you'll encourage her young fagging flight,
She'll upwards soar and mount Parnassus' height.
If little things with great may be compared,
In Rome it so with the divine Virgil fared;
The tuneful bard Augustus did inspire,
Made his great genius flash poetic fire;
But if upon my flight your honour frowns,

The muse folds up her wings, and dying-justice owns.

1 This little piece is presumed to be the earliest of Thomson's poems that has been preserved; probably written before he was

fifteen.

2 Elizabeth, the heroine of these juvenile lines, was Thomson's second and favourite sister.

When Lisy and her bosom Cat must part:

For now to school and pensive needle doomed,
She's banished from her childhood's undashed joy,
And all the pleasing intercourse she kept

With her grey comrade, which has often soothed
Her tender moments, while the world around
Glowed with ambition, business, and vice,
Or lay dissolved in sleep's delicious arms;
And from their dewy orbs the conscious stars
Shed on their friendship influence benign.

But see where mournful Puss, advancing stood With outstretched tail, casts looks of anxious woe On melting Lisy, in whose eye the tear

Stood tremulous, and thus would fain have said,
If nature had not tied her struggling tongue :
"Unkind, O! who shall now with fattening milk,
With flesh, with bread, and fish beloved, and meat,
Regale my taste? and at the cheerful fire,
Ah! who shall bask me in their downy lap?
Who shall invite me to the bed, and throw
The bedclothes o'er me in the winter night,
When Eurus roars? Beneath whose soothing hand
Soft shall I purr? But now, when Lisy's gone,
What is the dull officious world to me?

I loathe the thoughts of life: " thus plained the Cat,
While Lisy felt, by sympathetic touch,

These anxious thoughts that in her mind revolved,
And casting on her a desponding look,
She snatched her in her arms with eager grief,

And mewing, thus began :-"O Cat beloved!

Thou dear companion of my tender years!

Joy of my youth! that oft hast licked my hands
With velvet tongue ne'er stained by mouse's blood;
Oh, gentle Cat! how shall I part with thee?
How dead and heavy will the moments pass
When you are not in my delighted eye,
With Cubi playing, or your flying tail!

How harshly will the softest muslin feel,
And all the silk of schools, while I no more

Have your sleek skin to soothe my softened sense!
How shall I eat while you are not beside
To share the bit? How shall I ever sleep
While I no more your lulling murmurs hear?
Yet we must part--so rigid fate decrees—
But never shall your loved idea, dear,

Part from my soul, and when I first can mark
The embroidered figure on the snowy lawn,
Your image shall my needle keen employ.
Hark! now I'm called away! O direful sound!
I come I come, but first I charge you all-
You-you-and you, particularly you,
O, Mary, Mary,1 feed her with the best,
Repose her nightly in the warmest couch,
And be a Lisy to her !"-Having said,
She sat her down, and with her head across,
Rushed to the evil which she could not shun,
While a sad mew went knelling to her heart!