Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SONG OF THE CARRION CROW, by ELIZA COOK Poet's Biography First Line: My roost is the creaking gibbet's beam Subject(s): Birds | ||||||||
The wolf may howl, the jackal may prowl,- Rare, brave beasts are they; The worm may crawl in the carcass foul, The tiger may glut o'er his prey: The bloodhound may hang with untired fang,- He is cunning and strong, I trow; But Death's stanch crew holds none more true Than the broad-winged Carrion Crow. My roost is the creaking gibbet's beam, Where the murderer's bones swing bleaching; Where the clattering chain rings back again To the night-wind's desolate screeching. To and fro, as the fierce gusts blow, Merrily rocked am I; And I note with delight the traveller's fright As he cowers and hastens by. I scent the deeds of fearful crime; I wheel o'er the parricide's head; I have watched the sire, who, mad with ire, The blood of his child hath shed. I can chatter the tales at which The ear of innocence starts; And ye would not mark my plumage as dark If ye saw it beside some hearts. I have seen the friend spring out as a foe, And the guest waylay his host; And many a right arm strike a blow The lips never dared to boast. I have seen the soldier, millions adored, Do other than deed of the brave; When he wore a mask as well as a sword, And dug a midnight grave. I have fluttered where secret work has been done, Wrought with a trusty blade; But what did I care, whether foul or fair, If I shared the feast it made? A struggle, a cry, a hasty gash; A short and heavy groan! Revenge was sweet-its work was complete- The dead and I were alone! I plunged my beak in the marbling cheek, I perched on the clammy brow; And a dainty treat was that fresh meat To the greedy Carrion Crow. I have followed the traveller, dragging on O'er the mountains long and cold; For I knew at last he must sink in the blast, Though spirit was never so bold. hovered close; his limbs grew stark- His life-stream stood to congeal; And I whetted my claw, for I plainly saw I should soon have another meal. He fell, and slept like a fair, young bride, In his winding-sheet of snow; And quickly his breast had a table guest In the hungry Carrion Crow. If my pinions ache in the journey I take, No resting-place will do Till I light alone on a churchyard stone, Or a branch of the gloomy yew. Famine and Plague bring joy to me, For I love the harvest they yield; And the fairest sight I ever see Is the crimson battle-field Far and wide is my charnel range, And rich carousal I keep; Till back I come to my gibbet home, To be merrily rocked to sleep. When the world shall be spread with tombless dead, And darkness shroud all below; What triumph and glee to the last will be, For the sateless Carrion Crow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GLIMPSES OF THE BIRDS by JOHN HOLLANDER GLIMPSES OF THE BIRDS by JOHN HOLLANDER AUDUBON EXAMINES A BITTERN by ANDREW HUDGINS DISPATCHES FROM DEVEREUX SLOUGH by MARK JARMAN A COUNTRY LIFE by RANDALL JARRELL CANADIAN WARBLER by GALWAY KINNELL YELLOW BIRD by KENNETH SLADE ALLING THE CRIPPLE by KARLE WILSON BAKER |
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