To a caty-did

In a branch of a willow hidSings the evening Caty-did.From the lofty locust boughFeeding on a drop of dew,In her suit of green array’dHear her singing in the shadeCaty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!

While upon a leaf you tread,Or repose your little head,On your sheet of shadows laid,All the day you nothing said.Half the night your cheery tongueRevell’d out its little song,Nothing else but Caty-did.

From your lodgings on the leafDid you utter joy or grief—?Did you only mean to say,I have had my summer’s day,And am passing, soon awayTo the grave of Caty-did:—Poor, unhappy Caty-did!

But you would have utter’d moreHad you known of nature’s power—From the world when you retreat,And a leaf’s your winding sheet,Long before your spirit fled,Who can tell but nature said,Live again, my Caty-did!Live, and chatter Caty-did.

Tell me, what did Caty do?Did she mean to trouble you?—Why was Caty not forbidTo trouble little Caty-did?—Wrong, indeed at you to sling,Hurting no one while you singCaty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!

Why continue to complain?Caty tells me, she againWill not give you plague or pain:—Caty says you may be hid;Caty will not go to bedWhile you sing us Caty-did.Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!

But, while singing, you forgotTo tell us what did Caty not:Caty-did not think of cold,Flocks retiring to the fold,Winter, with his wrinkles old,Winter, that yourself foretoldWhen you gave us Caty-did.

Stay, securely in your nest;Caty now, will do her best,All she can, to make you blest;But, you want no human aid—Nature, when she form’d you, said,“Independent you are made,My dear little Caty-did:Soon yourself must disappearWith the verdure of the year,“—And to go, we know not where,With your song of Caty-did.

1815

Caty-did: “A well known insect, when full grown, about two inches in length, and of the exact color of a green leaf. It is of the genus cicada, or grasshopper kind, inhabiting the green foliage of trees and singing such a note as Caty-did in the evening, towards autumn.” (Freneau’s note)