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In Greece and Italy: Theocritus

In the "Idyls of Theocritus" the bees play a delightful part, and one here feels a slight sense of that comradeship with them which makes the poetry of Kalidasa and his Hindu fellow-poets so charming.

In the "Song of Thyrsis" the shepherd, written by Theocritus, we read: - "Get thee to Ida, get thee to Anchises! There are oaktrees - here only galingale blows, here sweetly hum the bees about the hives ! "Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song!"

Again in the same song: "Come hither, my prince, and take this fair pipe, honey-breathed with wax-stopped joints; and well it fits thy lip: for verily I, even I, by Love am now haled to Hades. "Give o'er, ye Muses, come, give o'er the pastoral song!" Upon which the goatherd who had prevailed upon Thyrsis to sing, hands him the cup he had promised as a reward, and says, "Filled may thy fair mouth be with honey, Thyrsis, and filled with the honey-comb; and the sweet dried fig mayst thou eat of Ægilus, for thou vanquishest the cicala in song ! Lo, here is thy cup, see, my friend, of how pleasant a savor! Thou wilt think it has been dipped in the wellspring of the hours." A goatherd's song of Amaryllis contains the following: "Ah, regard my heart's deep sorrow! Ah, would I were that humming bee, and to thy cave might come dipping beneath the fern that hides thee and the ivy leaves!" Comatos, ordered by Lacon to go with him, replies, - "That way I will not go! Here be oak-trees, and here the galingale, and sweetly here hum the bees about the hives."

In the song of Simichidas we have the following beautiful description of a rural scene : "And high above our heads waved many a poplar, many an elm-tree, while close at hand the sacred water from the nymphs' own cave welled forth with murmurs musical.

On shadowy boughs the burnt cicalas kept their chattering toil, far off the little owl cried in the thick thorn brake, the larks and finches were singing, the ring-dove moaned, the yellow bees were flitting about the springs. All breathed the scent of the opulent summer, of the season of fruits; pears at our feet and apples by our sides were rolling plentiful; the tender branches, with wild plums laden, were earthward bowed, and the four-year-old pitch seal was loosened from the mouth of the wine-jars."