Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/105

 Book IV. Thymbra with rank perfume the region fill,

And beds of violets drink the limpid rill.

Whether your hives be form'd of cork-tree rind

Hollow'd and sew'd, or pliant twigs intwin'd,

Contract their mouths; defence from colds and heats,

For these dissolve, and those congeal the sweets;

Alike both dreaded by the buzzing train:

Nor deem, they toil with ductile wax in vain

To close each chasm, or vacant of design

With flow'r and fucus all the borders line:

Hence are their hives with hoards of glue supply'd,

Clammier than birdlime, or than pitch of Ide.

Oft scoopt in earth, (if true, what Rumour tells)

They've rear'd their families in latent cells;

Clust'ring in concave pumices have crept,

And in a tree's worn trunk their station kept.

But of their hives do you each chinky pore

Smear with smooth clay, and strow thin foliage o'er:

Too near their dwelling let not yew-trees stand,

Nor burn red crabs, nor trust to fenny land,

Or where slime steams, or from some cavern'd rock

The voice reverberates with thundring shock..

Yet more; when Phœbus to the shades of night

Winter has chac'd, and with spring's op'ning light All