Spring

Long let us walk
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Of blossom^d beans. Arabia cannot boast
Afuller gale of joy, than liberal, thence,
Breathes through the sense, and takes the ravished soul.
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure and unnumbered flowers,
The negligece of nature, wide and wild,
Where, undisguised by mimic art, she spreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious task the fervent bees,
In swarming millions, tend: around, athwart,
Through the soft air the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube,
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they soraring dare
The purple heath, oft where the wild thyme grows,
And, yellow, load them with luscuious spoil.

Summer.
By flowering umbrage shaded; where the bee
strays diligent, and with the extracted balm
Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh.

Round the fine twigs, like clustered grapes, they close

In thickening wreaths, and court a short repose,

While the keen scouts with curious eye explore

The rifted roof, or widely gap[ing floor

Of some time-shattered pile, or hollow^d oak

Proud in decay, or cavern of the rock.

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