"That no compounded animal could die,
But when diffolv'd, the fpirit mounted high, "Dwelt in a star, and fettled in the sky."
When-e'er their balmy fweets you mean to feize, And take the liquid labours of the bees,
Spurt draughts of water from your mouth, and drive
A lothfome cloud of fmoke amidft their hive.
Twice in the year their flowery toils begin,
And twice they fetch their dewy harvest in ;
Once when the lovely Pleiades arise,
And add fresh luftre to the fummer skies:
And once when haftening from the watery fign
They quit their station, and forbear to shine.
The bees are prone to rage, and often found
To perifh for revenge, and die upon the wound,
Their venom'd fting produces aking pains,
And fwells the flesh, and fhoots among the veins.
When first a cold hard winter's forms arrive,
And threaten death or famine to their hive,
If now their finking ftate and low affairs
Can move your pity, and provoke your cares,
Fresh burning thyme before their cells convey,
And cut their dry-and hulky wax away;
For often lizards feize the luscious fpoils,
Or drones that riot on another's toils:
Oft broods of moths infeft the hungry fwärms,
And oft the furious wafp their hive alarms
With louder hums, and with unequal arms;
Or elfe the pider at the entrance fets
Her fnares, and fpins her bowels into nets.
When fickness reigns (for they as well as we Feel all th' effects of frail mortality)
By certain marks the new disease is seen,
Their colour changes, and their looks are thin,
Their funeral rites are form'd, and every bee
With grief attends the fad folemnity;
The few difeas'd furvivors hang before
Their fickly cells, and droop about the door,
Or flowly in their hives their limbs unfold,
Shrunk up with hunger, and benumb'd with cold
In drawling hums the feeble infects grieve,
And doleful buzzes echo through the hive,
Like winds that foftly murmur through the trees,
Like flames pent up, or like retiring feas
Now lay fresh honey near their empty rooms,
In troughs of hollow reeds, whilft frying gums
Caft round a fragrant mist of spicy fumes.
Thus kindly tempt the famifh'd fwarm to eat,
And gently reconcile them to their meat.
Mix juice of galls, and wine, that grow in time
Condens'd by fire, and thicken to a flime;
To these dry'd roses, thyme, and centaury join,
And raifins ripen'd on the Pfythian vine.
Befides there grows a flower in marshy ground,
Its name Amellus, eafy to be found;
A mighty fpring works in its root, and cleaves
The sprouting ftalk, and fhews itself in leaves;.
The flower itself is of a golden hue,
The leaves inclining to a darker blue;
The leaves fhoot thick about the flower, and grow
Into a bush, and shade the turf below:
The plant in holy garlands often twines
The altars' pofts, and beautifies the shrines
Its taste is sharp, in vales new-fhorn it grows,
Where Mella's ftream in watry mazes flows.
Take plenty of its roots, and boil them well
In wine, and heap them up before the cell.
But if the whole ftock fail, and none furvive;
To raise new people, and recruit the hive,
'I'll here the great experiment declare,
That spread th' Arcadian shepherd's name so far.
How bees from blood of flaughter'd bulls have fled,
And fwarms amidst the red corruption bred.
For where th' Egyptians yearly fee their bounds Refresh'd with floods, and fail about their grounds, Where Perfia borders, and the rolling Nile
Drives swiftly down the swarthy Indians foil,
Till into feven it multiplies its stream,
And fattens Egypt with a fruitful flime :
In this last practice all their hope remains,
And long experience juftifies their pains.
First then a clofe contracted space of ground, With strainten❜d walls and low-built roof they found A narrow fhelving light is next affign'd
To all the quarters, one to every wind;
Through these the glancing rays obliquely pierce :
Hither they lead a bull that's young and fierce,
When two-years growth of horn he proudly fhows,
And shakes the comely terrors of his brows:
His nofe and mouth, the avenues of breath,
They muzzle up, and beat his limbs to death.
With violence to life and ftifling pain
He flings and spurns, and tries to fnort in vain,
Loud heavy mows fall thick on every fide,
'Till his bruis d bowels burit within the hide.
When dead, they leave him rotting on the ground,
With branches, thyme, and caffia, ftrow'd around.
All this is done when firt the western breeze
Becaims the year, and imooths the troubled feas;
Before the chattering Swallow builds her neft,
Or fields in ipring's embroidery are dreft.
Mean while the tainted juice ferments within,
And quickens as it works: and now are feen
A wondrous warm, that o'er the carcafe crawls,
Of hapciefs, rude, unfinith'd animals,
No legs at first the infect's weight fuitain,
At length it moves its new-made limbs with pain;
Now trikes the air with quivering wings, and tries
To lift its body up, and learns to rife;
Now bending thighs and gilded wings it wears
Full grown, and all the bee at length appears;
From every fide the fruitful carcafe pours
Its fwarming brood, as thick as fummer fhowers,
Or flights of arrows from the Parthian bows,
When twanging ftrings firft fhoot them on the foes.
Thus have I fung the nature of the bee;
While Cæfar, towering to divinity,
The frighted Indians with his thunder aw`d,
And claim'd their homage, and commenc'd a god ;
I fortifi'd all the while in arts of peace,
and fhelter'd in inglorious eafe :
re the fongs of fhepherds made,
ad young my rural lays I play'd,
Tityrus beneath his shade.
FOR ST. CECILIA's DAY, AT OXFORD.
ECILIA, whofe exalted hymns
with joy and wonder fill the bleft,
In choirs of warbling feraphims
Known and distinguish'd from the rest
Attend, harmonious faint, and fee
Thy vocal fons of harmony;
Attend, harmonious faint, and hear our prayers;
Enliven all our earthly airs,
d, as thou fing'st thy God, teach us to fing of thee:
Tune every string and every tongue,
Be thou the Mufe and fubject of our fong.
Let all Cecilia's praise proclaim,
Employ the echo in her name.
Hark how the flutes and trumpets raise,
At bright Cecilia's name, their lays;
The organ labours in her praise.
cilia's name does all our numbers grace,
From every voice the tuneful accents fly,
In foaring trebles now it rises high,
Ed now it finks, and dwells upon the base.
cilia's name through all the notes we sing,
The work of every skilful tongue,
The found of every trembling string, The found and triumph of our fong.
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