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vii
Many autumns, many springs
Travell'd he[1] with wandering wings.
Many summers, many winters—
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a she,
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were happy enow.
But soon came a woodman, in leathern guise,
His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes.
He'd an ax in his hand, not a word he spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At length be brought down the poor raven's own oak.
His young ones were kill'd: for they could not depart,
And their mother did die of a broken heart.
The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever—
And they floated it down on the course of the river.
- ↑ Seventeen or eighteen years ago, an artist of some celebrity was so pleased with this doggerel, that he amused himself with the thought of making a Child's Picture Book of it; but he could not hit on a picture for these four lines. I suggested a round-about with four seats, and the four seasons, as children, with Time for the shew-man.
