BIRDS. 
215 
' No,' said the Starling, ' I can't get out, I can't get 
out.' Disguise thyself as thou wilt, stil 1 , slavery, said 
I, still thou art a bitter draught!" 
THE RAVEN. (Corvus Corax.) 
The Raven sits 
On the raven-stone, 
And his black wing flits 
O'er the milk-white bone ; 
To and fro, as the night-winds blow, 
The carcass of the assassin swings : 
And there alone, on the raven-stone, 
The Raven flaps his dusky wings. 
