"Hyrcania, land of honey and bees, We have found thee at last," he said, "Where the honey-comb swells in the hollow trees," (O, the lily behind his head!) "The honey-comb swells in the purple wood! 'Tis the swette which the heavens distil, Saith Pliny himself, on my little book-shelf! Is the world not sweet to thee, Bill?"
_Chorus:_ "Saith Pliny himself, on my little book-shelf! Is the world not sweet to thee, Bill?"
Now a man may taste of the devil's hot spice, And yet if his mind run back To the honey of childhood's Paradise His heart is not wholly black; And Bill, Black Bill, from the days of his youth, Tho' his chest was broad as an oak, Had cherished one innocent little sweet tooth, And it itched as our chaplain spoke.
_Chorus:_ He had kept one perilous little tooth, And it itched as our chaplain spoke.
All around was a mutter of bees, And Bill 'gan muttering too,-- "If the honey-comb swells in the hollow trees, (What else can a Didymus do?) I'll steer to the purple woods myself And see if this thing be so, Which the chaplain found on his little book-shelf, For Pliny lived long ago."
_Chorus:_ There's a platter of delf on his little book-shelf, And Pliny lived long ago.
Scarce had he spoken when, out of the wood, And buffeting all around, Rooting our sea-boots where we stood, There rumbled a marvellous sound, As a mountain of honey were crumbling asunder, Or a sunset-avalanche hurled Honey-comb boulders of golden thunder To smother the old black world.
_Chorus:_ Honey-comb boulders of musical thunder To mellow this old black world.
And the chaplain he whispered--"This honey, one saith, On my camphired cabin-shelf, None may harvest on pain of death; For the bee would eat it himself! None walketh those woods but him whose voice In the dingles you then did hear!" "A VOICE?" growls Bill. "Ay, Bill, r-r-rejoice! 'Twas the great Hyrcanian Bear!"
_Chorus:_ Give thanks! _Re_-joice! 'Twas the glor-r-r-ious Voice Of the great Hyrcanian Bear!
But, marking that Bill looked bitter indeed, For his sweet tooth hungered sore, "Consider," he saith, "that the Sweet hath need Of the Sour, as the Sea of the Shore! As the night to the day is our grief to our joy, And each for its brother prepares A banquet, Bill, that would otherwise cloy. Thus is it with honey and bears."