Sucks the raven’s heart-blood, glowing hot,
Drenches with it too the moistened earth.
Ah, black raven, youth so good and brave,
Thy destroyer is the eagle gray!
Not a swallow ’tis, that hovering clings,
Hovering clings to her warm little nest;
To the murdered son the mother clings,
And her tears fall like the rushing stream,
And his sister’s like the flowing rill;
Like the dew the tears fall of his love—