284 The Poets and Nature. 



of the Spring," get that wondrous heather and pine, that 

 hyacinth and underbloom, that heliotrope and thyme, 

 all together into one comb ? 



11 As bees mixed nectar draw from fragrant flowers " 



is trite enough, even for Young ; but in mead the nectar is 

 not mixed. 



Each flower is there authentic and indisputable. Waller 

 is utterly wrong who sings 



" Sweetest, you know the sweetest of things 

 Of various flowers the bees do compose, 

 Yet no particular taste it brings 

 Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose." 



For call it what you will, metheglin or hydromel, soma or 

 mead, the compound is " nectar, drink of gods," the whole 

 woodside in a bottle, Pan with all his poems in a glass. 



You may think I rhapsodise. It is not so, as others 

 who have drunk mead twenty years old will tell you. 



Southey addresses the bee as a miser, warning it that 

 it will not live to enjoy the fruits of its toil : 



" Thou art a miser, thou busy busy bee, 



Late and early at employ ; 

 Still on thy golden stores intent, 



Thy summer in reaping and hoarding is spent 



What thy winter will never enjoy : 

 What lesson this for me, thou busy busy bee ! 



Little dost thou think, thou busy busy bee, 



What is the end of thy toil, 

 When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, 



And all thy work for the year is done, 



Thy master comes for the spoil : 

 Woe then for thee, thou busy busy bee ! " , 



The fact is true enough, but not always for the reason 

 which Southey gives. For it is a deplorable fact that a 

 worker-bee lives only six weeks, so that all the earlier 

 toilers are dead before the time arrives for consuming 



