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Behold the busy, wand'ring Bee!
From bloom to bloom, from tree to tree
She sweeps mellifluous dews;
For her the silken gems arise,
For her display their shinking dyes,
Their balmy breath diffuse.
Sweet Murmurer! may no rude storm
This pleasurable scene deform
To check thy gladsome toils;
Still may the buds unsullied spring,
Still flow'rs and sunshine court thy wing
To these ambrosial spoils.
Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail
Her fellow-lab'rer thus to hail,
And lucky be the strains!
For long ago did nature frame
Your seasons and your arts the same,
Your pleasures and your pains.
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