The Raven

[As printed in the Morning Post, March 10, 1798.]

[Vide ante, p. 169.]

Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree, There was of Swine a large company. They were making a rude repast, Grunting as they crunch'd the mast. Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high-- One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy. Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly; He belong'd, I believe, to the witch MELANCHOLY! Blacker was he than the blackest jet; Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet. He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait, By the side of a river both deep and great. Where then did the Raven go? He went high and low-- O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go! Many Autumns, many Springs; Travell'd he with wand'ring wings; Many Summers, many Winters-- I can't tell half his adventures. At length he return'd, and with him a she; And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree. They built them a nest in the topmost bough, And young ones they had, and were jolly enow. But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise: His brow like a pent-house hung over his eyes. He'd an axe in his hand, and he nothing spoke, But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak. His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart, And his wife she did die of a broken heart! The branches from off it the Woodman did sever! And they floated it down on the course of the River: They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip, And with this tree and others they built up a ship. The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land, A tempest arose which no ship could withstand. It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast-- The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast. He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls-- They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls. The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet, They had taken his all, and REVENGE WAS SWEET!