70 THE SONGS OF " ROOKWOOD." 



" THE SEXTON'S SONG. 



" The Carrion Crow is a Sexton bold, 

 He raketh the dead from out the mould ; 

 He delveth the ground like a miser old, 

 Stealthily hiding his store of gold. 

 Caw! Caw! 



" The Carrion Crow hath a coat of black, 

 Silky and sleek, like a priest's, to his back ; 

 Like a lawyer he grubbeth no matter what way 

 The fouler the offal, the richer his prey. 



Caw ! Caw ! the Carrion Crow ! 



Dig ! Dig ! in the ground below ! 



" The Carrion Crow hath a dainty maw, 

 With savoury pickings he crammeth his craw : 

 Kept meat from the gibbet it pleaseth his whim, 

 It never can hang too long for him. 

 Caw ! Caw ! 



" The Carrion Crow smelleth powder, 'tis said, 

 Like a soldier escheweth the taste of cold lead ; 

 No jester or mime hath more marvellous wit, 

 For wherever he lighteth he maketh n hit. 



Caw ! Caw ! the Carrion Crow ! 



Dig ! Dig ! in the ground below !" 



We think we have said enough, and quoted enough, to prove that 

 Mr. Ainsworth deserves a high rank among the poets of the day. 



PAST RECOLLECTIONS. 



THE sun breaks the dream of the flowers, 



Their bells turn to heaven as in prayer ; 

 The dew sleeps like peace on the bowers, 



The sweetness of morning is there. 

 But I see not the Cheviot's bleak front, 



White as snow o'er the heather-clad hills ; 

 I see not the woods I was wont, 



I hear not the voice of their rills. 

 Northumbria ! my heart is with thee 



It roams near thy bloom-border'd streams, 

 By the Coquet's wild path to the sea, 



And the Allan, bright in the sunbeams. 

 It lingers where hangs the green willow, 



Sad witness of Love's early vow: 

 And mourns o'er the daisy-deck'd pillow, 



My Mary's lone resting place now. 

 Though my eyes on thy beauties may rest again never, 

 Northumbria! my spirit roams o'er thee for ever! 



J. W. T: 



