Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/114

 102 Born on their shoulders him in war they shield,

Court wounds, and perish bravely in the field.

Mov'd by these marks of genius some opine

That bees are gifted with a spark divine,

Shot from the Soul supreme: for God, they say,

Pervades land, ocean, and th' ethereal way:

Hence beasts, flocks, cattle, and the sons of Earth,

All draw the vital principle at birth.

Dissolv'd at length again all Beings roll

Back to their source: nor mortal is the soul,

But to her kindred Star each soaring flies,

Instinct with life, and mounts into the skies.

Presume not to unlock their proud retreats,

Nor tempt a passage to their treasur'd sweets,

Till from full mouth you spirt a stream, and drive

With waving hand smoke in the peopled hive.

Twice they compress the turgid combs, twice reap

The luscious stores; or, when, spurning the Deep

With scornful foot, the Pleiades uprear

On earth their lovely looks; or, struck with fear,

Receding from the drizzling finny Sign,

Sad in the wintry waters they decline.

Of bees provok'd dire is the wrath; their dart

Distils a poison in the punctur'd part; Unseen