VI

I'll follow you across the snow;
Ye travel heavily and slow;
In spite of all my weary pain

I'll look upon your tents again.

- My fire is dead, and snowy white

The water which beside it stood:

The wolf has come to me to-night,

And he has stolen away my food.

For ever left alone am I;

Then wherefore should I fear to die?

VII

Young as I am, my course is run,

I shall not see another sun;

I cannot lift my limbs to know

If they have any life or no.
My poor forsaken Child, if I

For once could have thee close to me,

With happy heart I then would die, And my last thought would happy be; But thou, dear Babe, art far away,

Nor shall I see another day.

The Last of the Flock