What with a chearful green does parfly grace,
And writhes the bellying cucumber along the twisted
Nor would I pass the soft acanthus o'er,
Ivy nor myrtle-trees that love the shore ;
Nor daffodils, that late from earth's flow womb
Unrumple their swoln buds,and fhow their yellowbloom.
For once I faw in the Tarentine vale,
Where flow Galefus drencht the wafhy 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 refted 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 colds had burft the brittle stone,
And freezing rivers stiffen'd as they run,
He then would prune the tendereft of his trees,
Chide the late fpring, and lingering western breeze:
His bees first swarm'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 fhade.
But thefe 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;-
Becaufe, invited by the timbrel's found,
Lodg'd in a cave th' almighty babe they found,
And the young god nurt 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 set stations, 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 blossom 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 bafe.
Some educate the young, or hatch the feed
With vital warmth, and future nations breed;
Whilft others thicken all the flimy dews,
And into pureft honey work the juice;.
Then fill the hollows of the comb, and fwell
With luscious nectar every flowing cell.
By turns they watch, by turns with curious eyes
Survey the heavens, and fearch the clouded fkies
To find out breeding ftorms, and tell what tempefts rife
By turns they ease the loaden fwarms, or drive
The drone, a lazy infect, from their hive.
The work is warmly ply'd through all the cells,
And strong with thyme the new-made honey fmells.
So in their caves the brawny Cyclops fweat,
When with huge ftrokes the flubborn wedge they beat,
And all th' unapen thunder-bolt compleat;
Alternately their hammers rife and fall;
Whilft griping tongs turn round the glowing ball.
With puffing bellows, fome the flames increase,
And fome in waters dip the hiffing mass;
Their beaten anvils dreadfully refound,
And tna fhakes all o'er, and thunders under ground.
Thus, if great things we may with fmall compare, The bufy fwarms their different labours fhare.
Defire of profit urges all degrees;
The aged infects, by experience wife,
Attend the comb, and fashion every part,
And shape the waxen fret-work out with art:
The young at night, returning from their toils,
Bring home their thighs clog'd with the meadows fpoils. On lavender and faffron-buds they feed,
On bending offers, and the balmy reed:
From purple violets and the teile they bring
Their gather'd sweets, and rifle all the spring,
All work together, all together rest.
The morning ftill renews their labours past ;
Then all rush out, their different tasks pursue,
Sit on the bloom, and fuck the ripening dew;
Again when evening warns them to their home,
With weary wings, and heavy thighs they come,
And crowd about the chink, and mix a drowsy hum.
Into their cells at length they gently creep,
There all the night their peaceful station keep,
Wrapt up in filence, and diffolv'd in fleep.
range abroad when winds and ftorms are nigh, Nor truft their bodies to a faithlefs fky,
But make small journeys, with a careful wing,
And fly to water at a neighbouring spring;
And, left their airy bodies should be caft
In restless. whirls, the sport of every blast,
They carry stones to poise them in their flight,
As ballat keeps th' unfteady veffel right.
But of all cuftoms that the bees can boaft,
'Tis this may challenge admiration moft;
That none will Hymen's fofter joys approve,
Nor waste their fpirits in luxurious love,
But all a long virginity maintain,
And bring forth young without a mother's pain.
From herbs and flowers they pick each tender bee,
And cull from plants a buzzing progeny
From these they choose out fubjects, and create
A little monarch of the rifing ftate;
Then build wax kingdoms for the infant prince,
And form a palace for his refidence.
But often in their journeys, as they fly,
On flints they tear their filken wings, or lie
Groveling beneath their flowery load, and die.
Thus love of honey can an infect fire,
And in a fly fuch generous thoughts inspire.
Yet By repeopling their decaying state,
Though seven short fprings conclude their vital date,
Their ancient ftocks eternally remain,
And in an endlefs race their childrens children reign.
No proftrate vassal of the East can more
With flavish fear his mighty Prince adore;
His life unites them all; but when he dies,
All in loud tumults and distractions rife;
They wafte their honey, and their combs deface,
And wild confufion reigns in every place.
Him all admire, all the great guardian own,
And crowd about his courts, and buzz about his throne.
Oft on their backs their weary prince they bear,
Oft in his caufe embattled in the air,
Purfue a glorious death, in wounds and war.
Some from fuch inftances as thefe have taught, "The bees extract is heavenly; for they thought "The univerfe alive, and that a foul,
"Diffus'd throughout the matter of the whole, “To all the vast unbounded frame was given,
"And ran through earth, and air, and fea, and all "the deep of heaven;
"That this first kindled life in man and beaft,
"Life that again flows into this at laft.
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