Deborah: " The Honey- Bee" 285 



the stored honey. Against the cruelty of suffocating 

 bees to get at the combs (a practice now fast going out 

 of fashion), Thomson, in his Autumn, protests : 



" Ah, see where, robb'd and murder'd in that pit, 

 Lies the still-heaving hive, at evening snatch'd 

 Beneath the cloud of guilt concealing night, 

 And fix'd o'er sulphur ; while not dreaming ill, 

 The happy people in their waxen cells 

 Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes 

 Of temperance, for winter poor, rejoiced 

 To mark, full flowing round, their copious store. 

 Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends, 

 And, used to milder scent, the tender race 

 By thousands tumble from their honeyed domes, 

 Convolv'd and agonising in the dust. 

 And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring 

 Intent from flower to flower ; for this you toil'd 

 Ceaseless the burning Summer heats away ; 

 For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste, 

 Nor lost one sunny gleam? For this sad fate? 

 Ah, man, tyrannic lord, how long, how long 

 Shall prostrate nature groan beneath your rage, 

 Awaiting renovation, when obliged 

 Must you destroy ? Of their ambrosial food 

 Can you not borrow, and in just return 

 Afford them shelter from the wintry winds ; 

 Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own 

 Again regale them on some smiling day ? 

 See where the stony bottom of their town, 

 Looks desolate and wild ; with here and there 

 A helpless member, who the ruin'd state 

 Survives, lamenting, weak, cast out to death." 



while Grahame pleads for their being fed in the early 

 Spring : 



" Now profit prompts, if pity ask in vain, 

 To save the falling state ; nor large the boon 

 They crave the refuse of the summer spoil, 

 Or syrup of the cane in bour-tree * trough 

 Pushed softly in, will help them, till the down 

 Hang on the willow tree, than which no flower 

 Yields fruit more grateful to the frugal tribe." 



Elder. 



