Σμίνθος, ὁ παντοίης δαιτὸς λίχνος, οὐδὲ μυάγρης
δειλός, ὁ κἀκ θανάτου κέρδεα λῃζόμενος,
νευρολάλον Φοίβου χορδὴν θρίσεν ἡ δ᾽ ἐπὶ πῆχυν
ἑλκομένη θηρὸς λαιμὸν ἀπεβρόχισεν.
τόξων εὐστοχίην θαυμάζομεν ὃς δὲ κατ᾽ ἐχθρῶν— Paton edition
ἤδη καὶ κιθάρην εὔστοχον ὅπλον ἔχει.
A mouse once, lickerish of every kind of food and— Paton edition
not even shy of the mouse-trap, but one who won
booty even from death, gnawed through Phoebus'
melodious lyre-string. The strained chord springing
up to the bridge of the lyre, throttled the mouse.
We wonder at the bow's good aim ; but Phoebus
uses his lyre, too, as a weapon wherewith to aim well
at his enemies.