They refresh themselves; a humming sound arises,
They sing about the entrances and the thresholds. ...
Nor do they retire very far from the hive when rain threatens,
Nor trust to the sky when the east winds begin to blow,
But all around under the walls of the city,
They safely fetch water and venture upon short expeditions. ...
You will wonder indeed at this custom of the bees,
That they do not idly relax their bodies in love,
Or bring forth offspring with labor;
Instead they gathered their sons
From the leaves and the fragrant herbs,
They themselves supply a king and little subjects
And refashion their palaces and waxen realms.
Often, too, in wandering over the rough, flinty rocks
They have worn away their wings,
And voluntarily given up their lives under their burden.
Such is their love of flowers and their glory in making honey!
Therefore, though the limit of brief life overtakes them,
Yet the race remains immortal,
And the fortune of the home endures through many years. ...
Furthermore, not Egypt, nor great Lydia, nor the people of the Parthians,
Nor even the Median Hydaspes, so honor their king.
While he is unharmed, all are of one mind;
If he is lost, they break their faith. ...
They surround him with incessant hummings, and attend him
In great numbers, and expose their bodies in war,
Seeking a beautiful death through their wounds.
(It is true that bees have this feeling for the queen, understanding that without her there is no hope for the future prosperity, or even existence, of the swarm.) From these signs, Virgil says in conclusion, some have maintained that the bee has a part of the divine intelligence and that it too, in common with flocks, herds, men, and all the race of beasts, has drawn in at birth its tiny vital spark from the god that penetrates the earth and the sea and the profound skies—"esse apibus partem divinæ mentis et haustus ætherios."
Again he tells:
The more they are exhausted, the more zealously all will set about
To repair the ruin of the fallen family
To fill the cells and to build storehouses for the honey,
as indeed they will. He also says, when speaking of an old Corycian who made a paradise for himself out of a few waste acres by setting out flowers and fruits and esculent plants to grow among the brambles,
He therefore was the first to abound in prolific bees and numerous swarms,
And to force the foaming honey from the pressed combs.
He had linden-trees and many pine trees;
With just so many blossoms as each tree
Was decked in in the spring,
Just so many ripe fruits it held in autumn.
