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At spring-tide first he pluck'd the full-blown rose, 155
From autumn first the ripen'd apple chose;

And still when winter split the rocks with cold,
And chain'd the rapid torrent as it roll'd,
E'en then he cropt th' acanthus' bloomy spray,
Chid the slow sun and zephyr's long delay.
Hence first his bees new swarms unnumber'd gave,
And press'd from richest combs the golden wave:
Limes round his haunts diffused a grateful shade,
And verdant pines with many a cone array'd;
And every bud, that gemm'd the vernal spray,
Swell'd into fruit beneath th' autumnal ray.
He lofty elms transposed in order placed,
Luxuriant pears at will his alleys graced,

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And grafted thorns that blushing plums display'd,
And planes that stretch'd o'er summer feasts their

shade.

Delightful scenes! in narrow bounds confined,

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I leave your charms, to future bards resign'd.
Learn now what natural instincts, gift of heav'n,
To grace the bee great Jove himself has given;
What time the swarms, by clanging cymbals led, 175
In Cretan caves the nurseling Thunderer fed.
They, sole, their town, their race in common rear,
Know their fix'd households, and just laws revere :
Prescient of winter, hoard the rifled spring,
And summer's tribute to the treasury bring.
Some, by fix'd league, forsake awhile their home,
And far and wide, to feed the nation, roam;

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175 Saturn intended to have devoured the infant Jupiter; to avoid which, he was concealed in Crete, among the Curetes, the clangor of whose brazen arms and cymbals drowned his cries. The bees assisted in feeding the infant god.Martyn.

Form'd of thick gum and pale Narcissus' tear,
Some, in the hive, their new foundations rear;
These, train'd to work, the clinging wax suspend, 185
These to the young, the nation's hope, attend,
These stow pure honey, and unwearied swell
With liquid nectar each o'erflowing cell.

These, at the gate, their station'd vigils keep,
Mark where the clouds collect, the tempests sweep,
Unload the laborer, or, embattled, drive
The drone, dull sluggard, from the busy hive :
A nation toils, the work unwearied glows,
And, redolent of thyme, the honey flows.
As when the Cyclops, for the Almighty Sire,
Force from the stubborn mass the bolt of fire,
These, gather'd winds thro' laboring bellows urge,
Those, in deep troughs the hissing bars immerge;
Heaved with vast strength their arms in order rise,
And blow to blow in measured chime replies;
While with firm tongs they turn the sparkling ore,
And Etna's caves with ponderous anvils roar.
Not less (if, unreproved, I rightly dare,
Things of low note with mightiest works compare)
The love of gain th' Hymettian swarm inspires,
Wakes every wish, and all their ardor fires.

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183 The flowers of narcissus, or daffodil, form a cup in the middle. These cups are supposed to contain the tears of the youth Narcissus.

Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffodillies fill their cups with tears

To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies.

Milton's Lycidas.-Martyn.

185 From the farina of flowers, which undergoes a certain process in the stomachs of the bees, the wax is manufactured. There is remarked a waxy substance on the flowers, to preserve, it would seem, the dust of the anthers from moisture, which would burst them prematurely.-Stawell.

191 The drones are the males. They are unprovided with stings after fecundation they are expelled from the hive.

To each his part; age claims th' intrusted care
To rear the palace, and the dome repair;

The young, returning homeward late at night,
Droop with the thyme that loads their wearied flight.
Where'er a willow waves, or arbute grows,

Or casia scents the gale, or crocus glows,
Or hyacinth unfolds its purple hue,

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Flow'r, shrub, and grove, for them their sweets re

new.

At once they labor, and at once repose;

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Forth from their gates each morn the nation flows,
And when pale twilight, from the rifled mead,
Bids the tired race, o'ercharged with spoil, recede,
They seek their roof, their drooping frame revive,
They come, they crowd, they hum around the hive:
Deep calm succeeds, each laid within his cell,
Where sleep and peace without a murmur dwell.
If tempests low'r, or rushing Eurus sound,
Secure they creep their city walls around,
Sip the pure rill that near their portal springs,
And bound their wary flight in narrower rings;
And oft with pebbles, like a balanced boat,
Poised, through the air on even pinions float.

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Nor shall the bees the less thy wonder move,

That none indulge the joys of mutual love :

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None waste their strength by amorous toils subdued, No pangs of labor renovate the brood:

But from sweet herbs they gather all their race,
Kings, and their courts, and waxen realms replace.

226 There is a species of bee, called the mason-bee, that builds its nest against walls, with mortar composed of gravel and sand this perhaps led Aristotle and others into the error here introduced by the poet.-Stawell.

229 Equivocal generation was an error of the ancient naturalists. Stawell.

Oft 'mid hard rocks their wand'ring wings they

bruise,

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And oft their lives beneath the burden lose ;
Such their fond zeal that every flower explores,
And glorious strife to swell their golden stores.
Hence, though harsh fate, when sev'n fleet summers
end,

At once their labors and their lives suspend,
The race and realm from age to age remain,
And time but lengthens with new links the chain.
Not Lydia's sons, nor Parthia's peopled shore,
Mede or Egyptian thus their king adore.
He lives, and pours through all th' accordant soul;
He dies, and by his death dissolves the whole:
They, they themselves their wondrous fabric tear,
Scatter their combs, and waste in wild despair.

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He guards their works, his look deep rev'rence draws; Crowds swarm on crowds, and hum their loud ap

plause,

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Bear 'mid the press of battle on their wing,
And, proud to perish, die around their king.

Hence, to the bee some sages have assign'd

A portion of the God, and heavenly mind;

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For God goes forth, and spreads throughout the whole,
Heaven, earth, and sea, the universal soul;
Each at its birth, from him all beings share,
Both man and brute, the breath of vital air;
To him return, and, loosed from earthly chain,
Fly whence they sprung, and rest in God again,

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243 Lydia, a region of Asia Minor. Parthia, a region of Asia, whose people are reported to have been so submissive to their king, as to kiss his foot, and to touch the ground with their mouths on approaching him.-Martyn.

259 According to Plutarch it was the opinion of Pythagoras and Plato that the soul did not die, but that when it left the body it returned to the kindred soul of the universe.

Spurn at the grave, and, fearless of decay,
Dwell in high heaven, and star th' ethereal way.

But if thy search their sacred realm explore,
And from their treasures draw the honey'd store,
With spirted water damp their ready wing,
And veil'd in clouds of smoke elude the sting.
The swarm twice labors, twice the harvest swells,
First when fair Pleias the scorn'd sea repels,
And beams o'er earth, or down th' aërial steep,
When her pale ray sinks mournful in the deep.
The injured swarms with rage insatiate glow,
Barb every shaft and poison every blow,
Deem life itself to vengeance well resign'd,
Die on the wound, and leave their stings behind.
But if bleak winter's dearth thy fears create,

Or rouse thy pity for their ruin'd state,
With thymy odors scent their smoking halls,
And pare th' unpeopled cells that load their walls.
There oft, unseen, insidious lizards prey,
The beetle there that flies the light of day,

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There feasts th' unbidden drone, there ring th' alarms
Of hornets battling with unequal arms,
Dire gnaws the moth, and o'er their portals spread
The spider watches her aërial thread.

The more exhausted, still the more they strive,
To renovate the race, and store the hive;
Contending myriads urge exhaustless powers,
Fill every cell, and crowd the comb with flowers.

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The stoics thought the souls of the ignorant perished with their bodies; and that those of the wise endured till the conflagration. Democritus and Epicurus were of opinion that the soul and body died together: Pythagoras and Plato held that the irrational part perished, but not the rational; the soul being (though not God himself) yet the work of the eternal God.-Martyn.

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