While all in vain concurrent numbers strive
To heave the slime-girt giant from the hive—
Sure not alone by force instinctive swayed,
But blest with reason’s soul-directing aid,
Alike in man or bee, they haste to pour,
Thick, hard’ning as it falls, the flaky shower;
Embalmed in shroud of glue the mummy lies,
No worms invade, no foul miasmas rise.
Evans.[723]
Xenophon tells us that all the soldiers, who ate of the honey-combs, found in the villages on the mountains of the