The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics :: :: University of Virginia Library

Caught at last, brown Bee!
Now confess to me
All thou hast been doing,
Flirting, flatt'ring, wooing,
'Mongst the foolish flowers,
These long summer hours.
Tell me all thy sinning,
Bee, from the beginning.

What! that sulky droning,
Like a whipped child's moaning—
Quite tired out, you say—
Working hard all day—
Gathering scraps of honey
Just to sell for money;—
Love indeed! pooh, pooh!
Flirting! no, not you!

Oh! brown Bee, brown Bee!
Truly shames it me

That you, folks deem wiser,
Should be such a miser.
But as I descry
In that roguish eye
Something, to my view,
Not quite fair and true,
Call we if you please,
Trusty witnesses,
To give attestation
To your allegation.
Here stands one .. aha!
Sweet Campanula,
May we pin our faith
Unto what he saith,
This brown Bee, that here
Doth in gyves appear?

“No! he gathered honey,
But for love, not money;
So at least he whispered
When his wooing prospered;
So he vowed with kisses
Warm, and fond caresses,—
Calling truth to witness,
That each taste of sweetness

Was for proving merely
How he loved me dearly.
So, ah! foolish blossom,
From this trusting bosom,
I resigned, with pleasure,
All my hoarded treasure—
Foolish, for in sooth,
It may be the truth,
What he now doth plead
In his bitter need,
That he gleaned his honey
Not for love, but money.”

Dealt he so with thee,
Rose, this wicked Bee?
“Yes, just so with me!”

And with thee, fair dame,
Foxglove, red with shame?
“Ay, the same, the same!”

Thyme, with thee, poor weed,
Did his arts succeed?
“Yes, indeed, indeed!”

And with thee, no less,
Violet, I guess?
“I must needs say yes,”

Oh! brown Bee, brown Bee!
Greatly shocks it me
That you are no wiser,
Libertine and miser—
Gathering your honey
Both for love and money!—
Oh! brown Bee, deceiver!
Ruiner and leaver!
Runagate and rover!
False disloyal lover!
Glad indeed am I
Thou in bonds dost lie,
That all flowers may see
Thy iniquity,
And advised, henceforth,
Of thy real worth,
May preserve their treasures
Safe from thy wild pleasures.

Now for doom condign
Meet for sin like thine.

Our conclusions are,
Prisoner at the bar,
That, close caged, you stay
One long summer day—
Caged, with, round about you,
Thousand flowers to flout you—
Lovely hues to haunt you,
Richest scents to taunt you,
Taunt you and pursue you,
Piercing through and through you,
Telling tales of honey
Worth a mint of money.
Do thou penance thus,
Insect Tantalus!
And when night falls dreary,
Hum thy ‘Miserere’
Till, constrained to pity,
By such doleful ditty,
Some small fairy, coming
This way through the gloaming,
Throwing wide thy door,
Set thee free once more.
Bee, with due repentance,
Bow to this our sentence!