The Hunting Wasps 



ous art of the Wasp the murderous art of 

 man, practical man, whose business it is to 

 slay rapidly. I will here recall one of my 

 childhood's memories. We were school- 

 boys of twelve years old, or thereabouts. 

 We were being instructed in the woes of 

 Meliboeus, pouring out his sorrows on the 

 bosom of Tityrus, who offers him his chest- 

 nuts, his sour milk and his bed of fresh 

 bracken; 1 we were made to recite a poem by 

 Racine the Younger, 2 La Religion. A curi- 

 ous poem, forsooth, for children who cared 

 more for marbles than theology ! I remem- 

 ber just two lines and a half: 



et, jusque dans la fange, 



L'insecte nous appelle et f certain de son 



prix, 

 Ose nous demander ralson de nos mepris. 3 



Why do these two lines and a half linger 

 in my memory and none of all the rest? 



a "This night, at least, with me forget your care; 

 Chestnuts and curds and cream shall be your fare; 

 The carpet-ground shall be with leaves o'erspread 

 And boughs shall weave a covering for your head." 



Pastorals, book i, Dryden's translation. 

 2 Louis Racine (1692-1763), son of Jean Racine. 

 Translator's Note. 



and even in the mire, 



The insect, of its worth assured, once and again 

 Ventures to challenge us to make good our disdain. 

 390 



