Verses (Baughan)/An Inquest
AN INQUEST
Bumble’s dead! the young Grass springs,
Deep in blue a Laverock sings,
Violets nestle ’mid the lines
Of the bold bright Celandines,
Willow her golden goblet spills,
And puffs of airy wine distils,
Almond-scented and honey-fed;—
Bumble’s not asleep, he’s dead!
Dear big beautiful brown Bee,
What hurt you? Let me look and see . .
Thighs, and breast, and head and back—
No! There's not the slightest crack
In these greaves of burnish’d brass,
In this velvety cuirass,
Or all this plated gossamer
Of wings that wont to whirr and whirr,
You burly hoplite, what went wrong
In a panoply so strong?
Your golden collar is in place,
These great eyes visor yet your face,
Your broad sash is not push’d awry.
Bumble! How did you come to die?
Ah! what’s this lolling from your lips,
This bronzéd shaft with two fine tips?
Bumble! and does the wind sing true?
He sings a shocking tale of you!
Of willow-wine, and helpless drouth,
And one poor greedy tippling mouth!
And, then, this tell-tale tongue! what needs
More witness? Plain, I fear, that pleads
“Guilty!”
Laverock’s carols fail,
The young Grass looks very pale,
Willow quivers, shivers, sighs,
Celandines turn up their eyes,
Violets droop the ashaméd head—
O poor Bumble! And you’re dead!