7 MARCH 1931, Page 18

The Red-Throated Diver

SHADOWED and frowned upon by Hope and Hee, Lashed into frenzy by the sudden squall, There lies a tarn. Few human footsteps fall Upon its banks, though passing hinds may see Their lips therein reflected thirstily.

The mountain sheep, in search of cotton-grass, That ovine panacea, perchance may pass Along its shores, but oftener it lies In isolation, frowning to those skies Where greenshanks hail their loves with throats of brass.

Here, then, alone the diver treads her nest And broods her dusky eggs with peat-stained breast.

At times the rainstorms drench her, and at times She hears the carillon that heather chimes When breezes sway its bells to soft unrest.

She crouches, neutral-tinted, dedicate, Or slips at hint of predatory fate, Into the tarn, to stay submerged so long, That foes who seek to do her darlings wrong Pass by and leave the home inviolate.

And on the quiet days when nothing scares Her anxious soul, and no maternal cares Call forth her cunning, does she muse or pray To speed the passing of the endless day ?

And 'does some god attend a diver's prayers ?

K. E. E.