  “I’m no modest city creature “By the hearth demurely spinning, “But a free cat on the roof, “In the air, with manners winning. “When in summer nights I’m musing “On the roof, in grateful coolness, “Music in me purrs, I sing “From my heart’s o’erpowering fulness.” Thus she speaks, and from her bosom Wild and wedding-songs stream thickly, And the melody allures All the cats unmarried quickly. Purring, mewing, thither hasten All the young cats, plain or brindled, And with Mimi join in chorus, Full of love, with passion kindled. They are no mere virtuosos Who profane, for sordid wages, Music, but of harmony Are apostles true, and sages. They no instruments use ever, Each is his own flute and viol; All their noses trumpets are, Bellies, drums, and no denial. They in chorus raise their voices, In one general intermezzo, Playing fugues, as if by Bach, Or by Guido of Arezzo. Wild the symphonies they’re singing Like capriccios of Beethoven, Or of Berlioz, who’s excell’d By their strains so interwoven. Wonderful their music’s might is! Magic notes without an equal! E’en the heavens they shake, the stars All turn pallid in the sequel. When the magic notes she heareth, And the wondrous tones delightful, Then Selene hides her face With a veil of clouds so frightful. But the nightingale with envy— Scandalous old prima donna— Turns her nose up, snuffs, and scorns Mimi’s voice, to her dishonour. Never mind! She’ll go on singing Spite the envy of Signora, Till on the horizon’s seen, Smiling rosily, Aurora. |
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