I wail thy doom—I warm thee by the fire,
And blab our secrets—do not thou betray us!
I give thee liberty, I give thee breath,
To fly from Athens, Eurus, Doctors, Death!!”
To this Mrs Hemans returned the following rejoinder:—
Sooth’d by the strain, the Wasp thus made reply—
(The first, last time he spoke not waspishly)—
“Too late, kind Poet! comes thine aid, thy song,
To aught first starved, then bottled up so long.
Yet, for the warmth of this thy genial fire,