THE RAVEN. A Christmas Tale, told by a School-boy to his littlę Brothers and Sisters. Underneath a huge oak tree There was, of swine, a huge company, Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high: Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait By the side of a river both deep and great. He went high and low, Over hill, over dale, did the black raven go. Many autumns, many springs I can't tell half his adventures. At length he came back, and with him a she, At length be brought down the poor raven's own oak. His young ones were kill'd: for they could not depart, And their mother did die of a broken heart. The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever— And they floated it down on the course of the river. Seventeen or eighteen years ago, an artist of some celebrity was so pleased with this doggerel, that he amused himself with the thought of making a Child's Picture Book of it; but he could not hit on a picture for these four lines. I suggested a round-about with four seats, and the four seasons, as children, with Time for the shew-man. They saw'd it in planks, and its bark they did strip, The old raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast. He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls- Right glad was the raven, and off he went fleet, MUTUAL PASSION. Altered and modernized from an old Poet. I love, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who: For if the nymphs should know my swain, I fear they'd love him too. Yet while my joy's unknown, Its rosy buds are but half-blown : What no one with me shares, seems scarce my own. I'll tell, that if they be not glad, They yet may envy me: But then if I grow jealous mad, And of them pitied be, "Twould vex me worse than scorn! And yet it cannot be forborn, Unless my heart would like my thoughts be torn. He is, if they can find him, fair And fresh, and fragrant too; As after rain the summer air, And looks as lillies do, That are this morning blown! Yet, yet I doubt, he is not known, Yet, yet I fear to have him fully shewn. But he hath eyes so large, and bright, Tho' Hate had put them out! But then to raise my fears, His voice -what maid so ever hears Will be my rival, tho' she have but ears. I'll tell no more! yet I love him, That never one low wish did.dim Our love's pure light, I know In each so free from blame, That both of us would gain new fame, If love's strong fears would let me tell his name! |