'Twas 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 purred 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
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred:
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard.
A favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters gold.

We walked together on the sand;
The white cliffs rose and shut out sight;
And then we rested, hand in hand,
Till evening faded into night.

'Twas the last time,—another day
To busier scenes would see me gone;
How should I tear my heart away,
And leave her loveless and alone?

Long time we sat, until the hour
Clanged on our thought, and then I heard
A low, too eloquent sigh of power,
And felt a quiver like a bird.

And marked the lithe form throb and thrill,
As quick the labouring pulses came;
Great God! how near we are to ill,
Girt by dark gulfs of sin and shame.

"Be glad! 'tis nature made you so;
Put off the yoke of childish fears."
"And are there, then, no jails of woe,
No dungeons of despair and tears? "

And so we rose without a word,
And homeward through the darkness went;
Dumb, though our inmost hearts were stirred,
And, save in fancy, innocent.

'Tis three years since. To-day I pressed
The little hand I knew of old:
She bore an infant at her breast,
And on her left the sacred gold.