Page:The Deipnosophists (Volume 3).djvu/416

 Thine is the charm, to thee they owe the grace. Life's chaplet blossoms only where thou art, And pleasure's year attains its sunny spring; And where thy smile is not, our joy is but a sigh.—E. B. C.

ADDENDA.

(Book vii. § 32, p. 453.)

Cook. A longing seizes me to come and tell To earth and heaven, how I dress'd the dinner. By Pallas, but 'tis pleasant to succeed In every point! How tender was my fish! How nice I served it up, not drugg'd with cheese, Nor brown'd above! It look'd the same exactly, When roasted, as it did when still alive. So delicate and mild a fire I gave it To cook it, that you'll scarcely credit me. Just as a hen, when she has seized on something Too large to swallow at a single mouthful, Runs round and round, and holds it tight, and longs To gulp it down, while others follow her; So the first guest that felt my fish's flavour Leapt from his couch, and fled around the room, Holding the dish, while others chased a-stern. One might have raised the sacred cry, as if It was a miracle; for some of them Snatch'd something, others nothing, others all. Yet they had only given me to dress Some paltry river-fish that feed on mud. If I had had a sea-char, or a turbot From Athens—Zeus the Saver!—or a boar-fish From Argos, or from darling Sicyon That fish which Neptune carries up to Heaven To feast the Immortals with—the conger-eel; Then all who ate it would have turn'd to gods. I have discover'd the elixir vitæ; Those who are dead already, when they've smelt One of my dishes, come to life again.—