All their hearts tremble, and beat thick with war;
Hoarse, broken sounds, like trumpets' harsh alarms,
Run through the hive, and call them to their arms;
All in a hurry spread their shivering wings,
And fit their claws, and point their angry stings:
In crowds before the king's pavilion meet,
And boldly challenge out the foe to fight:
At last, when all the heavens are warm and fair,
They rush together out, and join; the air
_90
Swarms thick, and echoes with the humming war.
All in a firm round cluster mix, and strow
With heaps of little corps the earth below,
As thick as hailstones from the floor rebound,
Or shaken acorns rattle on the ground.
No sense of danger can their kings control,
Their little bodies lodge a mighty soul:
Each obstinate in arms pursues his blow,
Till shameful flight secures the routed foe.
This hot dispute and all this mighty fray
_100
A little dust flung upward will allay.
But when both kings are settled in their hive,
Mark him who looks the worst, and, lest he live
Idle at home in ease and luxury,
The lazy monarch must be doomed to die;
So let the royal insect rule alone,
And reign without a rival in his throne.
The kings are different; one of better note,
All speck'd with gold, and many a shining spot,