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Now, now while my strength and my youth are in bloom,
And pray that my sins be forgiven.
I may dwell in a palace in heaven.
TO THE CICADA.
HAPPY insect! blithe and gay,
Seated on the sunny spray,
Singing sweet thy chirping song.
All the various season's treasures,
Thus lie open to thy pleasures,
On thee the Muses fix their choice,
And Phoebus adds his own,
And tuned thy pleasing tone.
Thy cheerful note in wood and vale
Fills every heart with glee;
While thus proclaimed by thee.
Like gods canst thou the nectar sip,
A lively chirping elf;
A little god thyself!
TO A FLY.
Prithee, little buzzing fly,
Touch it, and 'tis instant fate;
Lo! my counsel nought avails;
Is not this, deny who can-
TO THE SAME.
Busy, curious, thirsty fly,
—Oldys. THE BEE-HIVE. Neither night nor dawn of day, Puts a period to thy play: Sing, then—and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man. Wretched man, whose years are spent, In repining discontent, Lives not, aged though he be, Half a span, compared with thee. -anacreon. —Cowper.
WHAT various wonders may observers see
In a small insect—the sagacious bee!
Mark how the little untaught builders square
Their rooms, and in the dark their lodgings rear!
Nature's mechanics, they unwearied strive,
And fill with curious labyrinths the hive.
See what bright strokes of architecture shine
Through the whole frame—what beauty, what design!
Each odoriferous cell and waxen tower—
The yellow pillage of the rifled flower—
Has twice three sides, the only figure fit
To which the labourers may their stores commit,
Without the loss of matter or of room,
In all the wondrous structure of the comb.
Next view, spectator, with admiring eyes,
In what just order all the apartments rise!
So regular their equal sides cohere,
The adapted angles so each other bear;
That by mechanic rules, refined and bold,
They are at once upheld, at once uphold.
Does not this skill even vie with reason's reach?
Can Euclid more, can more Palladio teach?
Each verdant hill the industrious chemists climb,
Extract the riches of the blooming thyme;
And, provident of winter long before,
They stock their caves, and hoard their flowing store.
In peace they rule their state with prudent care,
Wisely defend, or wage offensive war.
— Weekly Amusement.
TO THE GRASSHOPPER.
HAPPY insect! what can be
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plough;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy.
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life's no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect! happy thou,
Dost neither age nor winter know.
But when thou 'st drunk, and danced, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest .
TO THE CRICKET.
Little inmate, full of mirth,
Thus thy praise shall be exprest,
Though in voice and shape they be
TO A BEE
Thou wert out betimes, thou busy, busy bee!
When abroad I took my early way.
On the meadow with dew so gray,
Thou wert alive, thou busy, busy bee!
When the crowd in their sleep were dead;
Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed,
Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee!
I heard thee last as I saw thee first,
When the primrose-tree blossom was ready to burst-
I heard thee, thou busy, busy bee!
Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy bee!
Late and early at employ;
What thy age will never enjoy.
Thou art a fool, thou busy, busy bee!
Thus for another to toil!