Page:The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer (IA iliadodysseyofho02home).pdf/579

Rh My mother nourish'd me with almonds, figs, And delicacies of a thousand names. But diverse as our natures are, in nought Similar, how, alas! can we be friends? The floods are thine abode, while I partake With man his sustenance. The basket, stored With wheaten loaves thrice kneaded, 'scapes not me, Nor wafer broad, enrich'd with balmy sweets, Nor ham in slices spread, nor liver wrapt In tunic silver-white, nor curds express'd From sweetest milk, nor, sweeter still, the full Honeycomb, coveted by Kings themselves, Nor aught by skilful cook invented yet of sauce or seas'ning for delight of man. I am brave also, and shrink not at sound Of glorious war, but rushing to the van, Mix with the foremost combatants. No fear Of man himself shakes me, vast as he is, But to his bed I steal, and make me sport Nibbling his fingers' end, or with sharp tooth Fretting his heel so neatly that he sleeps Profound the while, unconscious of the bite. Two things, of all that are, appall me most, The owl and cat. These cause me many a pang. As does the hollow gin insidious, fair In promises, but in performance foul, Engine of death! yet most of all I dread Cats, nimble mousers, who can dart a paw