Are starlit above,

Our girls are white torches

Of conquest and love.

No nerve without will,

And no breast without breath,

We whirl with the planets

That never know death!_

The Mysterious Cat

A chant for a children's pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted

by George Mather Richards.

I saw a proud, mysterious cat,

I saw a proud, mysterious cat

Too proud to catch a mouse or rat--

Mew, mew, mew.

But catnip she would eat, and purr,

But catnip she would eat, and purr.

And goldfish she did much prefer--

Mew, mew, mew.

I saw a cat--'twas but a dream,

I saw a cat--'twas but a dream

Who scorned the slave that brought her cream--

Mew, mew, mew.

Unless the slave were dressed in style,

Unless the slave were dressed in style

And knelt before her all the while--

Mew, mew, mew.

Did you ever hear of a thing like that?

Did you ever hear of a thing like that?

Did you ever hear of a thing like that?

Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.

Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.

Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.

Mew... mew... mew.

A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten

To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken

in a snappy, matter-of-fact way.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

Here lies a kitten good, who kept

A kitten's proper place.

He stole no pantry eatables,

Nor scratched the baby's face.

_He let the alley-cats alone_.

He had no yowling vice.

His shirt was always laundried well,

He freed the house of mice.

Until his death he had not caused

His little mistress tears,

He wore his ribbon prettily,

_He washed behind his ears_.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

Yankee Doodle

This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural

painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a

slower, more orotund fashion. It is presumably an exercise for an

entertainment on the evening of Washington's Birthday.

Dawn this morning burned all red

Watching them in wonder.

There I saw our spangled flag

Divide the clouds asunder.

Then there followed Washington.

Ah, he rode from glory,

Cold and mighty as his name

And stern as Freedom's story.

Unsubdued by burning dawn

Led his continentals.

Vast they were, and strange to see

In gray old regimentals:--

Marching still with bleeding feet,

Bleeding feet and jesting--

Marching from the judgment throne

With energy unresting.

How their merry quickstep played--

Silver, sharp, sonorous,

Piercing through with prophecy

The demons' rumbling chorus--

Behold the ancient powers of sin

And slavery before them!--

Sworn to stop the glorious dawn,

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