["The magnificent ostrich at the Zoological Gardens, presented
by the QUEEN, has recently died from lung-disease."--_Daily
Paper._]
My eyes are wet with dewy tears,
That will not cease to flow.
Like MARY'S little lamb, my grief
Somehow is sure to go
Wherever I do. It all comes
From something that I've read,
The ostrich that I loved so well
Fell ill, and now is dead.
"Magnificent" indeed, it was.
I never ceased to take
A pride in its magnificence
For its own special sake.
But added unto this there was
An extra joy. I mean
That loyalty asks ardour for
A present from the QUEEN.
Oh! ostrich. I have often thought
Your smile childlike and bland,
And speculated if it's true
That right down in the sand
You really _do_ conceal your head.
But even though that's wrong,
It seems without a lung for life
You could not live for long.
My wife and I delight to hear
Our wee girl's merry laugh,
As she's astride the elephant
Or feeding the giraffe.
But ostrich--regal, lung-gone, dead!
When we are at the Zoo,
My wife's best hat will always serve
To turn my thoughts to you.
* * * * *