The Pine-Apple And The Bee.

The pine-apples, in triple row,     Were basking hot, and all in blow;     A bee of most discerning taste     Perceived the fragrance as he passd,     On eager wing the spoiler came,     And searchd for crannies in the frame,     Urged his attempt on every side,     To every pane his trunk applied;     But still in vain, the frame was tight,     And only pervious to the light;     Thus having wasted half the day,     He trimmd his flight another way.     Methinks, I said, in thee I find     The sin and madness of mankind.     To joys forbidden man aspires,     Consumes his soul with vain desires;     Folly the spring of his pursuit,     And disappointment all the fruit.     While Cynthio ogles as he passes,     The nymph between two chariot glasses,     She is the pine-apple, and he     The silly unsuccessful bee.     The maid who views with pensive air     The show-glass fraught with glittering ware,     Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,     But sighs at thought of empty pockets;     Like thine, her appetite is keen,     But ah, the cruel glass between!     Our dear delights are often such,     Exposed to view but not to touch;     The sight our foolish heart inflames,     We long for pine-apples in frames;     With hopeless wish one looks and lingers;     One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers;     But they whom truth and wisdom lead     Can gather honey from a weed.