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Revenge was sweet, its work was complete,
The dead and I were alone.
I plunged my beak in the marbling cheek,
I perch'd on the clammy brow;
To the greedy Carrion Crow.
I have follow'd the traveller dragging on
O’er the mountains long and cold; For I knew at last he must sink in the blast,
Though spirit was never so bold.
I hover'd close-his limbs
grew stark, His life-stream stood to congeal ; And I whetted my claw, for I plainly saw
I should soon have another meal.
He fell, and slept like a fair young bride,
In his winding-sheet of snow;
In the hungry Carrion Crow.
If my pinions ache in the journey I take,
No resting-place will do,
Or a branch of the gloomy yew.
Famine and plague bring joy to me,
For I love the harvest they yield ; And the fairest sight I ever see
Is the crimson battle-field.
Far and wide is
To be merrily rock'd to sleep.
When the world shall be spread with tombless
And darkness shroud all below, [dead, What triumph and glee to the last will be
For the sateless Carrion Crow!
THE WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD.
How calm that little lake! no breath of wind
Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails
Awake ere the morning dawn-Skylark, arise !
eyesThen up ere the break of day, Skylark, arise !
Earth starts like a sluggard half-roused from a
dream ; Pale and ghost-like the mist floats away from the
stream, And the cataract hoarsely that all the night long Pour'd forth to the desolate darkness its
song, Now softens to music, as brighten the skies Then up ere the dawn of day, Skylark, arise.
Arise from the clover, and up to the cloud,
wings, While thy gaze, as thou soarest and singest, shall
feast On the innermost shrine of the uttermost east.
Up, up with a loud voice of singing ! the bee Will be out to the bloom, and the bird to the
tree, The trout to the pool, and the par to the rill, The flock to the plain, and the deer to the hill — Soon the marsh will resound to the plovers' lone
cries ;Then up ere the dawn of day, Skylark, arise !