POETRY.
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH.
BY wintry sun's declining glow A wanderer found Modelled in freshly-fallen snow A curious mound.
Was it the humour of the storm, Or Nature's jest, To mimic thus a fowl's plump form And rounded nest?
Not so,—for when the snowy mask He brushed aside, A duck sat patient o'er her task There—as she died.
Huddled beneath the downy breast Sweet treasures lay, Which she with anxious care had pressed That cruel day ; And braved long hours the blinding flakes, The wild wind's moan, And crushing cold,—all for their sakes, Her nestling own.
No mate to cheer with voice or food,— The last friend gone,—
Sole guardian of a numerous brood, She still sat on : Nor ever in that bosom stirred Of doubt a ghost, But, mother-like, the simple bird Died at her post.
Rest well, fond martyr, love-endowed, With love content; The whitest snow shall build thy shroud And monument. E. S.
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