In her arms she took him so tenderly,
And laid her down—never more rose she!”
The ballad then describes an oak, with lofty head, whereon the birds gather at night:
“And amidst them comes ever croaking low,
With a young dark raven, an aged crow.
Wearily onward they flap their way
With drooping wings, soaked through with spray,
As they had come from a far countrye;
As they had flown o’er a stormy sea.
And the birds they sing so sweet and clear