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THE ROOK.
#1
THE ROOK.

Thou skimmest up and down in the blue air,
Year after year, companionable bird,
Making the murmur of thy coming heard,
As a great fleet's, in the still evening glare.
Thou hast the corn-fields in thy tutelar care,
Yet 'mongst them is thy name an evil word;
Ever thy multitudinous flight is stirred
By a young villain set the rooks to scare.
Tis a churl's deed; but in the quiet night,
When he is stretched upon his pallet board,
Why do ye rise, with wakeful accents so ?
Then, 'tis the owlet's immemorial right,
On his vague quest over the dewy sward,
Hearing nought else but muttering winds, to go.
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