ページの画像
PDF
ePub

And put all that I had seene in writing,
Under support of them that lust it to rede.

O little booke, thou art so unconning,

How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede?

It is wonder that thou wexest not rede!

Sith that thou wost full lite who shall behold

Thy rude langage, full boistously unfold.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 1328-1399.

II.

The Bee.

“A

BEE among the flowers in spring is one of the cheerfullest things that can be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment: so busy, and so pleased." Any one who has wandered about the fields during the warmer months will assuredly agree with this opinion of Paley. The very hum of the bee, as it flies past us on its pleasant errand, in quest of some sweet flower, or returning with its dainty load, is one of the most cheery of the voices of summer. The movement of the little creature, also, is full of meaning, and attracts the eye as curiously characteristic of its nature; it generally flies in lines more or less direct; we see here nothing of the idle, roaming, vagrant flutter of the gaudy butterfly, and nothing of the doubtful, hesitating, over-cautious pause of the plodding ant. The instincts of the bee are all lively and vigorous; it seems conscious that wherever grass grows, there some blossom will be found to reward its search, and it moves steadily

onward until a head of clover, or perchance a prouder flower, offers the precious drop. And, alighting to gather its grateful harvest, how skillfully its work is carried on; other insects may show as much cleverness in attaining their end, but there are few indeed which accomplish their task so pleasantly. The wise little bee does no mischief; no violence marks her labors; the freshness of the flower remains unsullied by her passage; she leaves the gay petals and the green foliage alike uninjured; no plant suffers from her visits! There is nothing unsightly, nothing repelling or painful in any of her measures; all is order, nicety, and harmony. If we may believe Milton, to watch the bee at her task was a pleasure worthy of Paradise. Adam, when he awakens Eve, invites her to prune her vines, to prop her flowers, and to mark

"How the bee

Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweets."

As a poetical accessory of rural life, the bee was much honored by the ancient writers, receiving at their hands far more notice than has fallen to her share in later times. The reader is already aware that the Fourth Georgic of Virgil, relating wholly to bees, takes the first rank among the most beautiful and perfect of Latin poems. Extracts from Sotheby's translations of this Georgic are given among the following Selections. It is amusing to note some of the errors and misconceptions of the master regarding the habits of those little creatures; and yet it is generally admitted, that from the great attention paid to them, the ancients had more correct notions regarding the bee than on any other subject of natural history.

TO THE BEES.

FROM THE GREEK OF ZONAS.

Ye nimble, honey-making bees,
The flowers are in their prime;
Come, now, and taste the little buds
Of sweetly breathing thyme;
Of tender poppies all so fair,

Or bits of raisin sweet,

Or down that decks the apple tribe,

Or fragrant violet:

Come, nibble on, your vessels store
With honey while you can,
In order that the hive-protecting,
Bee-preserving Pan

May have a tasting for himself;
And that the hand so rude,

That cuts away the combs, may leave

For yourselves a little food.

Translation of W. HAY

ON A BEE'S NEST.

FROM THE GREEK OF ANTIPHILUS.

O beautiful bee homestead,
With many a waxen cell,

Self-built for hanging, so it seems—
That airy citadel!

An unbought blessing to man's life,

Which neither plow nor hoe,

Nor axe nor crooked sickle,

Is needed to bestow;

A tiny vessel-and no more

Wherein the busy bee

From its small body liquid sweets

Distilleth lavishly.

Rejoice, ye blessed creatures!

Regaling while ye rove,

Winged workers of nectareous food,

On all the flowers ye love.

Translation of JOHN WILSON.

THE BEE.

FROM THE GREEK OF NICIAS, 280 B. C.

Many-colored, sunshine-loving,
Spring-betokening bee!
Yellow bee, so mad for love

Of early-blooming flowers-
Till thy waxen cell be full.

Fair fall thy work and thee,
Buzzing round the sweetly-smelling

Garden plots and bowers.

Anonymous Translator

MANAGEMENT OF BEES.

FROM THE FOURTH GEORGIC OF VIRGI

First, seek a station where no ruthless gale
Dares the still hive and sheltered bees assail :
Lest as they homeward droop, o'erdone with toil,
Inclement blasts their loaded flight despoil;
Far from the sheep that wasted earth devour,
The wanton bird that bounds from flower to flower;
Heifers whose roving steps the meadow bruise,
And dash from springing herbs nectareous dews.
There let no lizard, armed with burnished scale,
Merops, or bird of prey, their wall assail,
Nor Progne haunt, whose conscious plumes attest
The blood-stained hand imprinted on her breast.
These widely waste, and, seiz'd upon the wing,
To feed their nest, the bee in triumph bring.
But there let pools invite with moss array'd,
Clear fount and rill that purls along the glade,
Palms o'er their porch a grateful gloom extend,
And the wild olive's shelt'ring boughs defend.

There where new kings the swarms at spring-tide lead,

And bursting myriads gladden all the mead,
Dim banks at noon may lure to cool repose,
And trees with hospitable arms inclose.
If sleep the stagnant pools, or currents flow,
Huge stones and willows 'mid the water throw;
That if a breeze across their passage sweep,
And headlong drive the loiterer to the deep,

« 前へ次へ »