At other times th' induftrious infects live
In hollow rocks, or make a tree their hive.
Point all their chinky lodgings round with mud,
And leaves must thinly on your work be strow'd;
But let no baleful yew-tree flourish near,
Nor rotten marshes send out steams of mire;
Nor burning crabs grow red, and crackle in the fire:
Nor neighbouring caves return the dying found,
Nor echoing rocks the doubled voice rebound.
Things thus prepar’d———
When th' under-world is feiz'd with cold and night,
And summer here descends in streams of light,
The bees through woods and forefts take their flight.
They rifle every flower, and lightly skim
Thy crystal brook, and fip the running stream :
And thus they feed their young with ftrange delight,
And knead the yielding wax, and work the flimy sweet.
But when on high you fee the bees repair,
-Borne on the wind, through distant tracts of air,
And view the winged cloud all blackening from afar ;
While fhady coverts and fresh steams they chuse,
Milfoil and common honey-fuckles bruise,
And sprinkle on their hives the fragrant juice.
On brazen veffels beat a tinkling found,
And thake the cymbals of the goddess round;
Then all will haftily retreat, and fill
The warm refounding hollow of their cell.
If once two rival kings their right debate,
And factions and cabals embroil the state,
The people's actions will their thoughts declare;
All their hearts tremble, and beat thick with war;
Hoarfe broken founds, like trumpet's harsh a'arms,
Run through the hive, and call them to their arms;
All in a hurry fpread their fhivering wings,
And fit their claws, and point their angry stings :
In crowds before the king's pavilion meet,
And boldly challenge out the foe to fight;
At last, when all the heavens are warm and fair,
They rush together out, and join; the air
Swarms thick, and echoes with the humming war.
All in a firm round cluster mix, and ftrow
With heaps of little corps the earth below;
As thick as hail-ftones from the floor rebound,
Or fhaken acorns rattle on the ground.
No fenfe of danger can their kings control,
Their little bodies lodge a mighty foul:
Each obftinate in arms, purfues his blow,
Till thameful flight fecures the routed foe.
This hot difpute and all this mighty fray
A little duft flung upward will allay.
But when both kings are settled in their hive,
Mark him who looks the worst, and left he live
Idle at home in eafe and luxury,
The lazy monarch must be doom'd to die;
So let the royal infect rule alone,
And reign without a rival in his throne.
The kings are different: one of better note,
All fpeckt with gold, and many a fhining spot,
Looks gay, and gliftens in a gilded coat;
But love of eafe, and floth in one prevails,
That fcarce.his hanging paunch behind him trails :
The people's looks are different as their kings;
Some fparkle bright, and glitter in their wings;
Others look loathfom and difeas'd with floth,
Like a faint traveller whofe dusty mouth
Grows dry with heat, and spits a maukish froth.-
The firft are beft-
From their o'erflowing combs, you'll often prefs
Pure luscious fweets that mingling in the glafs
Correct the harfhncfs of the racy juice,
And a rich flavour through the wine diffuse.
But when they sport abroad, and rove from home,
And leave the cooling hive, and quit th' unfinith'd comb;
Their airy ramblings are with ease confin'd,
Clip their king's wings, and if they stay behind
No bold ufurper dares invade their right,
Nor found a march, nor give the fign for flight.
Let flowery banks entice them to their cells,
And gardens all perfum'd with native smells;
Where carv'd Priapus has his fix'd abode,
The robber's terror, and the fcare-crow god.
Wild thyme and pine-trees from their barren hill
Tranfplant, and nurfe them in the neighbouring foil..
Set fruit-trees round, nor e'er indulge thy floth,
But water them, and urge their shady growth,
And here, perhaps, were not I giving o'er,
And striking fail, and making to the fhore,
I'd fhew what art the gardener's toils require,
Why rofy Pæftum blushes twice a year:
What ftreams the verdant fuccory supply,
And how the thirsty plant drinks rivers dry;
What with a chearful green does parsly grace,
And writhes the bellying cucumber along the twisted
Nor would I país the foft acanthus o'er,
Ivy nor myrtle-trees that love the shore;
Nor daffodils, that late from earth's flow womb
Unrumple their fwoln buds,and show their yellowbloom..
For once I faw in the Tarentine vale,
Where flow Galefus drencht the washy foil,
An old Corycian yeoman, who had got
A few neglected acres to his lot,
Where neither corn nor pafture grac'd the field,
Nor would the vine her purple harvest yield;
But favory herbs among the thorns were found,
Vervain and poppy-flowers his garden crown'd,
And drooping lilies whiten'd all the ground,
Bleft with thefe riches he could empires flight,.
And when he rested from his toils at night,
The earth unpurchas'd dainties would afford,
And his own garden furnish out his board:
The fpring did firft his opening rofes blow,
Firft ripening autumn bent his fruitful bough.
When piercing coids had burft the brittle stone,
And freezing rivers fiffen'd as they run,
He then would prune the tendereft of his trees,
Chide the late fpring, and lingering western breeze:
His bees firft fwarm'd, and made his veffels foam.
With the rich fqueezing of the juicy comb.
Here lindons and the fappy pine increas'd;
Here, when gay flowers his fmiling orchard dreft,
As many blossoms as the fpring could thow,
So many dangling apples mellow'd on the bough.
In rows his elms and knotty pear-trees bloom,
And thorns ennobled now to bear a plumb,
And spreading plane-trees, where fupinely laid
He now enjoys the cool, and quaffs beneath the shade.
But these for want of room I must omit,
And leave for future poets to recite.
Now I'll proceed their natures to declare,
Which Jove himself did on the bees confer;
Because, invited by the timbrel's found,
Lodg'd in a cave th' almighty babe they found,
And the young god nurst kindly under-ground.
Of all the wing'd inhabitants of air,
Thefe only make their young the public care;
In well-difpos'd focieties they live,
And laws and ftatutes regulate their hive;
Nor ftray, like others, unconfin'd abroad,
But know fet ftations, and a fix'd abode.
Each provident of cold in fummer flies
Through fields, and woods, to feek for new fupplies,
And in the common stock unlades his thighs.
Some watch the food, fome in the meadows ply,
Taste every bud, and fuck each bloffom dry;
Whilft others, labouring in their cells at home,
Temper Narciffus' clammy tears with gum,
For the first ground-work of the golden comb;
On this they found their waxen works, and raise
The yellow fabrick on its glewy bale.
Some educate the young, or hatch the feed
With vital warmth, and future nations breed;
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