THOMSON ON CRUELTY TO BEES. 
81 
and suggests what man’s ingenuity has since 
devised. 
“ Ah, see here, robbed and murdered iu that pit 
Lies the still heaving hive! at evening snatched, 
Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, 
And fixed o’er sulphur; while not dreaming ill, 
The happy people, in their waxen cells, 
Sat tending public cases, and planning schemes 
Of temperance, for winter poor; rejoiced 
To mask, full flowing round, their copious stores. 
Sudden the dark, oppressive steam ascends; 
And used to milder scents, the tender race, 
By thousands, tumble from their honeyed domes, 
Convulsed, and agonizing in the dust. 
And was it, then, for this you roamed the spring, 
Intent from flower to flower? for this you toiled 
Ceaseless the burning summer heats away ? 
For this in autumn searched the blooming waste, 
Nor lost one sunny gleam? for this sad fate? 
0 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 
G 
