88 THE RAVEN 



raven." Or read the exquisite description of Ellen 

 in The Lady of the Lake : 



" And seldom was a snood amid 

 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 

 Whose glossy black to shame might bring 

 The plumage of the raven's wing." 



A pathetic story is told by Ovid of the way in 

 which the raven like the Black Stone in the Kaaba 

 at Mecca, which was once of dazzling whiteness, but 

 since then, has been turned black by the kisses of 

 sinful mortals acquired his sable hue. Apollo 

 thought himself happy in the love of the nymph 

 Coronis. But his ignorance was his bliss ; and the 

 raven, his favourite bird and messenger, which was, 

 at that time, white as snow, always prying into 

 secrets and then ready to prate about them, dis- 

 covered that her heart was elsewhere, and informed 

 the god of it. Infuriated by jealousy, Apollo shot a 

 far-reaching arrow into her bosom, and repented only 

 when it was too late. In vain did he have recourse 

 to his own healing arts ; in vain did he shed 



*' Tears such as angels weep." 



His last sad office was reverently to place the body 

 of his beloved on the funeral pyre ; and then he 



