SUNDOWN IN SHOTLEY WOOD 237 



the fen rivers and the marshes of the broads, and 

 arrived, as they always do, in the last week of the 

 old year, to croak their warning tale into the winter 

 night. 



" I sent forth memory in heedful guise, 



To search the record of preceding years ; 

 Back like the raven to the ark she flies, 

 And croaks disaster to my trembling ears," 



the poet writes. The cry of the grey crows, like the 

 voice of the raven, has an evil sound. But they have 

 croaked in the wood at each year's ending, and if the 

 next be no worse than those which have gone, we shall 

 not cease to enjoy the sounds of the winter wood at 

 sundown. 



