FROGS AND MICE.
47
Bare in a safe, and fed on daintiest meat,
Figs, nuts, and comfits, sweetest of the sweet.
—But how be guests?—our natures differ wide—
Past is thy life beneath the rippling tide,
While wont am I to nibble in a trice,
Earth's treasured fruits, and all that man holds nice.
Nor shuns my searching ken the wheat-loaf, made
Of finest flour, in shapely basket laid,
Nor spreading tartlet stor'd with juiciest jam,
White-kirtled liver, slice of savoury ham,
Nor freshest cheese from milk delicious prest,
Nor honied cake, the banquets of the blest!
Nor aught by cooks to grace rich revels wrought,
When with each sauce the full tureens are fraught.
Ne'er yet from battle's withering shout I fled4,
But on,—and mingled where the vanmost bled:
From man—albeit huge-limbed—I shrink not back,
But hie to bed, his finger-ends attack,
Or eke his toe,—meanwhile the dreamy wight
Unharass'd sleeps, tho' tooth and nail I bite.
But ah! at every step I dread these twain,
Night owl and cat—they work me mickle bane,
And gin accurst, within whose tempting bait,
Lurks darkest guile and lures me to my fate;
—Grimalkin most I dread, and from my soul—
Worst plague, she nabs me worming thro' a hole.
Radish I loathe, nor kail nor pumpkins eat,
Nor parsley love, nor banquet on fresh beet,
For these your dainties are beneath yon lake."—
—Smiling hereat, in answer Puff-chops spake:
Figs, nuts, and comfits, sweetest of the sweet.
—But how be guests?—our natures differ wide—
Past is thy life beneath the rippling tide,
While wont am I to nibble in a trice,
Earth's treasured fruits, and all that man holds nice.
Nor shuns my searching ken the wheat-loaf, made
Of finest flour, in shapely basket laid,
Nor spreading tartlet stor'd with juiciest jam,
White-kirtled liver, slice of savoury ham,
Nor freshest cheese from milk delicious prest,
Nor honied cake, the banquets of the blest!
Nor aught by cooks to grace rich revels wrought,
When with each sauce the full tureens are fraught.
Ne'er yet from battle's withering shout I fled4,
But on,—and mingled where the vanmost bled:
From man—albeit huge-limbed—I shrink not back,
But hie to bed, his finger-ends attack,
Or eke his toe,—meanwhile the dreamy wight
Unharass'd sleeps, tho' tooth and nail I bite.
But ah! at every step I dread these twain,
Night owl and cat—they work me mickle bane,
And gin accurst, within whose tempting bait,
Lurks darkest guile and lures me to my fate;
—Grimalkin most I dread, and from my soul—
Worst plague, she nabs me worming thro' a hole.
Radish I loathe, nor kail nor pumpkins eat,
Nor parsley love, nor banquet on fresh beet,
For these your dainties are beneath yon lake."—
—Smiling hereat, in answer Puff-chops spake:
