Prayer of the Bees to Alciphron

There was a spinner in the days of old,
So proud, so bold,
She thought it neither shame nor sin
To challenge Pallas to come down and spin.
The goddess won, and forced the crone to hide her
Ugly old head and shrink into a spider.
The bees were frighten'd, for they knew
Within their prudent breasts that few
Had so much skill as they;
And she who gave the olive might
Be angry, if they showed that light
As pure and bright
Could shine on mortals any other way.
So not a syllable said they of wax,
But cover'd it with honey, lest a tax
Be laid upon it by the Powers above.
Another goddess, no less mighty
Than Pallas, men call Aphrodite,
The queen of love.
Honey she likes and all things sweet.
And, when she came among the swarms,
They said, "O thou whence love hath all its charms!
Grant him who saved us what we now entreat.
'Tis one whom we
Are used to see
Among our thyme and ivy-flowers
Throughout the matin and the vesper hours,
Fonder of silence than of talk;
Yet him we heard one morning say:
' Gardener! do not sweep away
The citron blossoms from the gravel- walk:
It might disturb or wound my bees;
So lay aside that besom, if you please/
He for whose weal we supplicate is one
Thou haply may'st remember, Alciphron.
We know that Pallas has lookt down
Sometimes on him without a frown,
Yet must confess we 're less afraid
Of you than that Hymettian maid.
Give him, O goddess, we implore,
Not honey (we can that) but more.
We are poor bees, and can not tell
If there be aught he loves as well;
But we do think we heard him say
There is, and something in your way.
Our stories tell us, when your pretty child
Who drives (they say) so many mortals wild,
Vext one of our great-aunts until she stung;
Away he flew, and wrung.
Stamping, his five loose fingers at the smart.
You chided him, and took our part.
May the cross Year, fresh-wakened, blow sharp dust
Into their eyes who say thou art unjust."