Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/113

 Book IV. But chief you'll wonder, that they ne'er are led

To the soft pleasures of the genial bed,

Their strength unwasted by the lewd delight:

Nor are their young by throes brought forth to light.

From leaves and aromatic herbs the bees

With busy beak the puny people seize:

A King, and small Quirites they ordain;

Restore the palaces, and waxen reign.

Oft, as they roam, their wings on flints they tear,

And, self-devoted, breath their lives in air,

Laden with sweets: of flow'rs so strong the rage,

So full does glory all their souls engage.

Yet, tho' their life be bounded by the space

Of sev'n short summers, endless is the race;

The fortune of their house lasts firm thro' years,

And a long line of sires on sires appears.

Not Ægypt, nor the realms Hydaspes laves,

Lydia of vast extent, nor Parthia's slaves

Eye with such awe their King: while he remains

Safe in their sight, a perfect union reigns;

Dead, all is anarchy: wild rage impels

To spoil the stores, and rend the wattled cells.

Director of their works rever'd he stands,

Hem'd on all sides, the gaze of murmuring bands: Born