The Bustard

: Literary Fables Of Yriarte

The sluggish Bustard, in her foolish pate,

Vexed with her young ones' awkward flight,

Purposed to raise a brood more light,

Even though 't were illegitimate.

For this end many an egg she stole

From Partridge, Pigeon and the Kite,

And sundry birds of easy flight;

And in her nest mixed up the whole.

Long while and patiently she sat upon them;

Though some proved addled, yet, in time, the rest

With a fine brood of nurslings filled the nest;

And many a kind, of course, was found among them.

A host of birds collects, at her request,

To admire her progeny, so rare and new;

But each away with his own offspring flew,

And left poor Bustard with an empty nest.

Ye, who the ideas of other men brood over,--

Bring out your fledglings. Let us see them fly!

Then, "This, and this is mine," resounds the cry

How much belongs to you, we'll soon discover.