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Wreaths of Friendship: A Gift for the Young
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III
"From spring until autumn, from morning till night,
I'm obliged to be toiling with all my might;
My labors are wearing me out, and you know
I might as well starve, as to kill myself so."
IV
The Spider pretended to pity the Bee—
For a cunning old hypocrite Spider was he—
"I'm sorry to see you so ill," he said;
And he whispered his wife, "He will have to be bled."
THE BEE OUTSIDE THE WEB.
V
"Some people—perhaps they are wiser than I—
Some people are in a great hurry to die;
Excuse me, but candor compels me to say,
'Tis wrong to be throwing one's life away.
VI
"Your industry, sir, it may do very well
For the beaver's rude hut, or the honey-bee's cell;
But it never would suit a gay fellow like me;
I love to be idle—I love to be free.
VII
"This hoarding of riches—this wasting of time,
In robbing the gardens and fields—'tis a crime!
And then to be guilty of suicide, too!
I tremble to think what a miser will do."
VIII
'Tis strange the poor Bee was so stupid and blind.
"Mister Spider," said he, "you have spoken my mind;
There's something within me that seems to say,
I have toiled long enough, and 'tis better to play.
IX
"But how in the world shall I manage to live?
I might beg all my life, and nobody would give.
'Tis easy enough to be merry and sing,
But living on air is a different thing."
X
The Spider was silent, and looked very grave—
'Twas a habit he had—the scheming old knave!
No Spider, intent on his labor of love,
Had more of the serpent, or less of the dove.
XI
"To serve you would give me great pleasure," said he;
"Come into my palace, and tarry with me;
The Spider knows nothing of labor and care.
Come, you shall be welcome our bounty to share.
XII
"I live like a king, and my wife like a queen,
In meadows where flowers are blooming and green;
'Tis sweet on the violet's bosom to lie,
And list to the stream that runs merrily by.
XIII
"With us you shall mingle in scenes of delight,
All summer and winter, from morning till night;
And when 'neath the hills the sun sinks in the west,
Your head on a pillow of roses shall rest.
XIV
"When miserly Bees shall return from their toils,
We'll catch them, and tie them, and feast on the spoils;
I'll lighten their burdens—I ought to know how—
My pantry is full of such gentlemen now."
XV
The Bee did not wait to be urged any more,
But nodded his thanks, as he entered the door.
"Aha!" said the Spider, "I have you at last."
And he caught the poor urchin, and wound him up fast.
XVI
The Bee, when aware of his perilous fate,
Recovered his wit, though a moment too late.
"O treacherous Spider! for shame!" said he,
"Is it thus you betray a poor, innocent Bee?"
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