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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;
And a dainty treat was that fresh meat

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;
And quickly his breast had a table guest

In the hungry Carrion Crow.

If my pinions ache in the journey I take,

No resting-place will do,
Till I light alone on a churchyard stone,

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

my
charnel

range,
And rich carousal I keep,
Till back I come to my gibbet home,

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.

Graham.

How calm that little lake! no breath of wind
Sighs through the reeds ; a clear abyss it seems,
Held in the concave of the inverted sky,
In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing

Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails
Yon little fleet, the Wild Duck and her brood !
Fearless of harm, they row their easy way ;
The water-lily, 'neath the plumy prows,
Dips, re-appearing in their dimpled track.
Yet, even amid that scene of peace, the noise
Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes.
Yon revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs,
Boisterous approach; the spaniel dashes in ;
Quick he descries the prey; and faster swims,
And eager barks; the harmless flock, dismay'd,
Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds,
All but the parent pair; they, floating, wait
To lure the foe, and lead him from their young ;
But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore.
Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm
Arrests their flight; they fluttering, bleeding fall,
And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake.

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Awake ere the morning dawn-Skylark, arise !
The last of the stars hath waned dim in the skies;
The peak of the mountain is purpled in light,
And the grass with the night-dew is diamonded

white,
The young flowers, at morning's call, open their

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,
Ere the sun leaves his chamber, in majesty proud,
And, ere his light lowers to earth's meaner things,
Catch the starless effulgence of heaven on thy

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 !

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