THE HORNET. 119 
And yet they’re noble insects! their bodies red 
and yellow, 
And large almost as little birds, how richly 
toned and mellow. 
And these old woods, so full of trees, all hol- 
low and decayed, 
Must be a perfect paradise, for the hornet le- 
gions made. 
Secure from village lads, and from gardeners’ 
watchful eyes, 
They may build their paper-nests, and issue for 
supplies 
To orchards or to gardens, for plum, and peach, 
and pear,— 
With wasp, fly, ant, and earwig, they ‘ll have 
a giant’s share. 
And you, stout Mr. Sentinel, there standing at 
the door, 
Though Homer said in his time, ‘“ the hornet’s 
soul all o’er,”— 
You're not so very spiritual, but soon some 
sunny morning 
I may find you in a ereen-gage, and give you 
little warning, 
