THE RAVEN 165 



their beaks. Thereupon he commended them, and the 

 black penitents showed by the flapping of their wings that 

 they rejoiced in his forgiveness. 



Another monkish fancy was that which the okl four- 

 teenth-century traveller, Sir John Mandeville, heard when 

 he visited the convent of St. Catherine at Mount Sinai. 

 He was told that the oil used for the lamps of the church 

 and also that which was eaten at table, was largely pro- 

 vided by the Ravens and crows and other wild birds, who 

 assembled there "every year once," as if on pilgrimage. 

 "And everych of them bringeth a branch of the bays or 

 of olive in their beaks instead of offering, and leaveth them 

 there ; of the which the monks make great plenty of oil. 

 And this is a great marvel." 



A far less kindly and devout reputation belongs to the 

 Raven in old English poetry, especially in the Border 

 ballads. Wherever there was fighting between the Scots 

 and the sturdy men of the northern counties, the evening 

 of the battle brought the Raven. Over the field he flew, 

 and perched on one low-lying head after another, pecking 

 out the sightless eyes of the dead and often attacking the 

 helpless wounded. 



No wonder he was hated, and his name grew to be 

 associated with carnage and cruelty. For he not only 

 profited by man's sufferings ; he was popularly supposed to 

 be a veritable harbinger of doom, a foreteller of coming 

 death, or at least of great misfortune. 



" The raven's hoarse note from the bough 

 Did toll his funeral knell." 



But somehow the Raven seems to have been even more 

 respected than hated, except perhajDS by the shepherds, who 

 had to keep ever on the watch lest some lagging sick ewe 

 or straying lamb of their flock should be pounced on and 



