And, resting there, their flaggy pinions dry, When, late returning home, the laden host By raging winds is wrecked upon the coast. Wild thyme and savory set around their cell, Sweet to the taste, and fragrant to the smell: Set rows of rosemary with flowering stem, And let the purple violets drink the stream. Whether thou build the palace of thy bees With twisted osiers, or with barks of trees, Make but a narrow mouth: for, as the cold Congeals into a lump the liquid gold, So 'tis again dissolved by summer's heat And the sweet labours both extremes defeat. And therefore, not in vain, the industrious kind With dauby wax and flowers the chinks have lined, And, with their stores of gathered glue, contrive To stop the vents and crannies of their hive. Not birdlime, or Idæan pitch, produce A more tenacious mass of clammy juice. Nor bees are lodged in hives alone, but found In chambers of their own beneath the ground; Their vaulted roofs are hung in pumices, And in the rotten trunks of hollow trees. But plaster thou the chinky hives with clay, And leafy branches o'er their lodgings lay: Nor place them where too deep a water flows, } Or where the yew, their pois'nous neighbour, grows; } Nor roast red crabs, to offend the niceness of their nose; } Nor near the steaming stench of muddy ground; } Nor hollow rocks that render back the sound, } And doubled images of voice rebound. } For what remains, when golden suns appear, And under earth have driven the winter year, The winged nation wanders through the skies, And o'er the plains and shady forest flies; Then, stooping on the meads and leafy bowers, They skim the floods, and sip the purple flowers. Exalted hence, and drunk with secret joy, Their young succession all their cares employ: They breed, they brood, instruct and educate, And make provision for the future state; They work their waxen lodgings in their hives, And labour honey to sustain their lives. But when thou seest a swarming cloud arise, That sweeps aloft, and darkens all the skies, The motions of their hasty flight attend; And know, to floods or woods, their airy march they bend. Then melfoil beat, and honey-suckles pound; } With these alluring savours strew the ground; } And mix with tinkling brass the cymbal's droning sound. } Straight to their ancient cells, recalled from air, The reconciled deserters will repair. But, if intestine broils alarm the hive, (For two pretenders oft for empire strive,) The vulgar in divided factions jar; And murmuring sounds proclaim the civil war. Inflamed with ire, and trembling with disdain, Scarce can their limbs their mighty souls contain. With shouts, the coward's courage they excite, And martial clangors call them out to fight; With hoarse alarms the hollow camp rebounds,