When, in the evening mists, the Pelican returns
From his travel abroad to his nest of reeds,
His famished young run over the shore
On seeing him swoop, far away, over the waters.
Already thinking to seize and to share the prey,
They run to their parent with cries of joy
Shaking their beaks on hideous necks.
Slowly, now, he gains a perch on a rock
Sheltering his young with his wing held wide,
A melancholy fisher gazing up to the sky.
In long streaks from his opened breast flows his blood,
In vain has he searched the depths of the sea,
The ocean empty, the shoreland bare,
For nourishment, he has brought his heart.