- A huntsman, bearing his gun afield,
- Went whistling merrily;
- When he heard the blackest of black crows
- Call out from a withered tree;
- "You are going to kill the thievish birds,
- And I would if I were you;
- But you musn't touch my family,
- Whatever else you do?"
- "I am only going to kill the birds
- That are eating up my crop;
- And if your young ones do such things
- Be sure they'll have to stop."
- "Oh," said the crow, "my children
- Are the best ones ever born;
- There isn't one among them all
- Would steal a grain of corn."
- "But how shall I know which ones they are?
- Do they resemble you?"
- "Oh no," said the crow, "they're the prettiest birds
- And the whitest that ever flew!"
- So off west the sportsman, whistling
- And off, too, went his gun;
- And its starting echoes never ceased
- Again till the day was done.
- And the old crow sat untroubled,
- Cawing away in her nook;
- For she said, "He'll never kill my birds
- Since I told him how they look.
- "Now there's the hawk, my neighbor,
- She'll see what she will see, soon;
- And that saucy, whistling blackbird
- May have to change his tune!"
- When, lo! she saw the hunter
- Taking his homeward track,
- With a string of crows as long as his gun
- Hanging down his back.
- "Alack, alack," said the mother,
- "What in the world have you done?
- You promised to spare my pretty birds,
- And you've killed them every one."
- "Your birds!" said the puzzled hunter;
- "Why I found them in my corn;
- And besides, they are black and ugly
- As any that ever were born!"
- "Get out of my sight, you stupid!"
- Said the angriest of crows;
- "How good and fair her children are
- There's none but a parent knows."
- "Ah, I see, I see," said the hunter,
- "But not as you do, quite;
- It takes a mother to be so blind
- She can't tell black from white."
History and Legacy of Wild Birds Including Historic Ornithology and Other Topics of Interest
06 November 2013
The Crow's Children - A 1874 Poem
Labels:
poetry