Of honey-loving bees, ye will remark
A Sovereign rules this small but populous State;
And, if she live, they live, and fill with life
The sunny air around—but if she die,
They quickly die, and then their precious sweet,
Becomes a dainty dish for vilest worms.
If ye will scan the custom of those birds,
That seek the boreal lakes, when spring unfolds—
Soaring far up amid the azure heaven,
Ye will note one who leads them in their flight,