THE RAVEN. 143 



'Tis the raven tree, and its leafy screen 

 Hath ever her covert and fortress been ; 

 But the woodman conies, and the ancient oak 

 Is trembling beneath his powerful stroke : 

 She deems it the gust of the stormy breeze, 

 As it bends the boughs of the forest-trees. 

 Again the strong column shakes to its base, 

 But the raven is still in her resting-place : 

 The tall tree trembles, and totters, and swings, 

 And still she is seen with her out-spread wings ; 

 Till with thundering crash to the ground it falls, 

 And scatters in ruins her castle walls : 

 That thundering crash was her funeral knell, 

 To earth, with her nest, the poor raven fell, 

 And never more was her solemn croak 

 Heard from the boughs of the lofty oak. 



THE RAVEN. 



" Hide thyself by the brook Cherith, which is before 

 Jordan, and it shall be that thou shalt drink of the brook, 



and I have commanded the ravens to feed thee there." 



1 KINGS, xvii. 3,4. 



Dark raven, when thy note I hear, 

 Why should it fill my heart with fear ? 

 I'll look upon thy sable wing, 

 And think of Cherith's secret spring, 

 And of the prophet's wond'rous fare, 

 Who sought the hidden waters there. 



Thy rushing wing, dark-mantled bird, 



The holy seer with gladness heard, 



When famine raged on ev'ry side, 



And founts and flowing streams were dried $ 



But still, in Cherith's quiet vale, 



The crystal waters did not fail. 



