Chapter XII

To life belongs a most unpleasant feature:
That not a rose without sharp thorns doth grow,
Much as love's yearning stirs our human nature,
Through pangs of parting we at last must go.
From thy dear eyes, when I my fate was trying,
A gleam of love and joy streamed forth to me:
Preserve thee God! my joy seemed then undying,
Preserve thee God! such joy was not to be.

I've suffered much from envy, hatred, sorrow,
A weather-beaten wanderer sad and worn;
I dreamt of peace and of a happy morrow,
When I to thee by angel-guides was borne.
To thy dear arms for comfort I was flying,
In grateful thanks I vowed my life to thee:
Preserve thee God! my joy seemed then undying,
Preserve thee God! such joy was not to be.

The clouds fly fast, the wind the leaves is sweeping,
A heavy shower falls o'er woods and meads:
The weather with my parting is in keeping,
Gray as the sky my path before me leads.
Whatever may come, joy's smile or bitter sighing,
Thou lovely maid! I'll think of naught but thee!
Preserve thee God! my joy seemed once undying,
Preserve thee God! such joy was not for me.

SONGS OF THE CAT HIDDIGEIGEI.

I.

Honest folks are turning lately
Their attention to the Muses,
And with ease compose their own songs
For their daily household uses.

Therefore I shall also try it,
On light pinions freely winging;
For, who dares deny our talent,
Takes from cats the right of singing?

If I always run to book-stores
I shall find it too expensive;
And their gaudy books contain oft
Naught but trash, weak and offensive.

II.

When through vales and on the mountains
Roars the storm at midnight drear,
Clambering over ridge and chimney
Hiddigeigei doth appear.

Like a spirit he stands up there,
Never looked he half so fair;
Fire from his eyes is streaming,
Fire from his bristling hair.

And he howls in fierce wild measure,
An old war-cry caterwauling,
Which is borne off by the storm-wind,
Like the distant thunder rolling.

Not a soul then ever sees him,
Each is sleeping in his house;
But far down, deep in the cellar,
Listens the poor trembling mouse.

For his voice she recognises,
And she knows that, when in rage,
Most ferocious is the aspect
Of this valiant feline sage.

III.

From the tower's highest summit
Gaze I at the world below;
From my lofty seat I'm able
To observe life's ceaseless flow.

And the cat's green eyes are staring,
And he laughs within his sleeve,
That those pygmies there are trying
Such great follies to achieve.

What's the use? Up to my level
Never can I raise mankind.
Let them follow their devices,
Small their loss is, to my mind.

For perverted are men's actions,
And their work is woe and crash.
Conscious of his own great value,
Grins the cat down on this trash!

IV.

O the world does us injustice,
And for thanks I look quite vainly;
For the finest chords of feline
Nature, it mistakes so plainly.

Thus, if some one falls down drunken,
And a throbbing like a hammer
Racks his heavy head on waking,
Germans call it _Katzenjammer_.

Katzenjammer, oh great insult!
Gentle is our caterwauling;
Only men I hear too often
Through the streets at night-time bawling.

Yes! they do us great injustice,
Never can be comprehending
All the deep and morbid sorrow
Which a poor cat's heart is rending.

V.

Hiddigeigei often has raved with delight,
The true, good, and beautiful seeking;
Hiddigeigei often felt grief's deadly blight,
And with tender sad yearnings was weeping.

Hiddigeigei once has felt his heart glow,
When the fairest of cats he was wooing;
And just as a troubadour's love-songs flow,
Rang nightly his spirited mewing.

Hiddigeigei many a valiant fight,
Like the Paladin Roland, was waging;
But men have often belaboured his hide,
And with dropping hot pitch made him raging.

Hiddigeigei to his sorrow found out,
That his fair one was false and deceiving
That from a poor insignificant lout
She was secretly visits receiving.

Hiddigeigei then did open his eyes,
Left off his pining and yearning;
The world henceforth he learned to despise,
To his inner self earnestly turning.