But short, alas! his giddy play, The child, in such simplicity, TO A BEE. THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee! On the meadow with dew so gray, Thou wert alive, thou busy, busy Bee! When the crowd in their sleep were dead; Thou wert abroad in the freshest hour, When the sweetest odour comes from the flower. Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed, And be wise and copy thee, thou busy, busy Bee! Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee! After the fall of the cistus flower, I heard thee last as I saw thee first, When the primrose-tree blossom was ready to burst. In the coolness of the ev'ning hour, I heard thee, thou busy, busy Bee! Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy youth in heaping and hoarding is spent What thy age will never enjoy. I will not copy thee, thou miserly Bee! Thou art a fool, thou busy, busy Bee, Thus for another to toil! Thy master waits till thy work is done, And will murder thee, thou poor little Bee! ANTHOLOGY. 66 The Cranes.-The Strength of Virtue. THE CRANES. MARK how, when sullen clouds appear, And far o'er land and seas to warmer climes repair. THE STRENGTH OF VIRTUE. Of malice ... .Against the threats Which erring men call Chance, this hold I firm, MILTON. The Nightingale.-The Serpent. 67 THE NIGHTINGALE. CLOSE in the poplar shade the nightingale With piercing cries does her lost young bewail; Which the rough hind observing, as they lay Warm in their downy nest, had stol'n away · But she in mournful sounds does still complain, Sings all the night, tho' all her songs are vain, And still renews her miserable strain. LEE. THE SERPENT. IN fair Calabria's woods a snake is bred, With curling crest, and with advancing head, Waving he rolls, and makes a shining track: His belly spotted, burnish'd is his back: While springs are gushing, while the southern air And dropping heav'ns the moisten'd earth repair, He lives on standing lakes or trembling bogs; And fills his maw with fish, or with loquacious frogs. But when, in muddy pools, the water sinks, And the chapt earth is furrow'do'er with chinks, He leaves the fens and leaps upon the ground, O! let not sleep my closing eyes invade CONTENT. How clad with smiles the vernal morn! |