An Odd Custom: "Telling the Bees."
The beautiful poem by Whittier, called "Telling the Bees," from which the following stanzas are taken, was founded upon an odd custom brought from the old country, and which prevailed for a time in the rural districts of New England.
On the death of a member of the family, the bees were at once informed of the event, and their hives draped with mourning. This ceremony was supposed to be necessary to prevent the swarms from leaving their hives, and seeking a new home.
"Before them under the garden wall,
Forward and back,
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.
Forward and back,
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.
Trembling, I listened: the summer sun
Had the chill of snow,
For I knew she was telling the bees of one
Gone on the journey we all must go.
Had the chill of snow,
For I knew she was telling the bees of one
Gone on the journey we all must go.
And the song she was singing, ever since
In my ear sounds on:--
'Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence!
Mistress Mary is dead and gone!'"
In my ear sounds on:--
'Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence!
Mistress Mary is dead and gone!'"