by a Witch.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.2 #4 (1847).
Bird of the sable plume!
Brightest and blackest of the raven kind;
Thou who canst croak the augury of doom,
To damp the mind!
Be still my soul's delight!
Dearer to me thy garb of glossy jet
Than hues more gaudy, and more gaily bright,
Of some proud pet!
Famed in the lays of love,
When bards the charms of sable ringlets sing
More than the plumage of the silvery dove,
Is thy dark wing!
And, in the sacred page,
Doth not the glory of thy fathers shine,
Who, to the prophet, fled from royal rage,
Brought aid divine?
If to the wandering ark
Thy truant ancestor return'd no more,
But o'er the waste of waters, drear and dark,
Still sought a shore,
Praised be the soul of pride,
That would be free—not impotently safe!
Such was thy parent—nor hast thou belied
Thy lineage—Ralph!
Far from thy native home,
No vain regret, no care disturbs thy rest,
Nor need thy spouse with soft attentions come
To soothe thy breast!
Thine is the lofty mien!
The stately step—the grave majestic air—
Sober though sly—and solemn though serene,
And free from care!
My Patriarch of the Fowl!
Thou seest thy brethren[1] of the feather'd race
Live but to die, whilst thou, with steadfast soul,
Dost thrive apace!
Perch'd on the topmost thatch,
Great is thy power with busy beak and claw!
Thy skill destructive, not e'en man can match,
And hate of law!
Vainly the dull may blame
The noble ardour of thy lofty soul;
Cold is the heart that would thy courage tame—
Thy will control!
Come to my window-pane!
Ne'er shall this heart reject thy humbly prayer;
Ne'er shalt thou seek my sympathy in vain,
Or beg thy fare!
Still in thy mistress trust;
To life's last hour she'll keep her fav'rite safe;
And in these rhymes shall live, when both are dust,
The name of—Ralph.
M.Y.W.
1. The barndoor fowl.