142 THE RAVEN. 



mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, 

 and the young eagles shall eat it.' " 



Turning aside from this appalling scene of 

 crime, and its punishment, we will call your at- 

 tention once more to the peculiar habits of the 

 bird, as exhibited in its determined adherence to 

 the spot it has chosen for its abiding place. The 

 naturalist of Selborne, to whose pages we al- 

 ways refer with pleasure, has furnished us with 

 a story, which exhibits this propensity in the ut- 

 most perfection, and on which the following little 

 poem is founded. 



THE RAVEN TREE. 



Wouldst thou the strong hold of the raven see? 



Go, mark where she sits on her ancient tree ; 



There long she hath dwelt, the queen of the wood, 



Where the lofty oaks for ages have stood. 



There hath she sat, when the summer's bright beam. 



To her glossy wings gave a purple gleam ; 



And there hath she dwelt, when the winter sky 



Sent the blast of the tempest howling by. 



'Tis her own beloved abiding place, 



And a tower of strength to her infant race ; 



And a living rampart girds it around, 



For nature hath cast up the swelling mound: 



Nor man nor beast can the barrier clear, 



And she nestles there safely from year to year. 



There she sits, and the raven's croak. 



Is nightly heard from the lofty oak. 



