Song of the Raven - An 1864 Poem

A raven sat on a blood-stained stone

And pecked away at a fleshless bone,

Singing his song in a raven's tone,

That echoed wild as a spirit's moan —

War! War! War!

 

Then he flapped his wings and hopped away

Over the ground of the dreadful fray,

In search of more nutritious prey,

Still shouting aloud his ominous lay —

War! War! War!

 

Still flapping his wings he hopped around

To a from stretched on the ground,

A human frame on an ancient mound,

Still shouting aloud the doleful sound —

War! War! War!

 

Then lighting there on the hero's breast,

Where a form of beauty once found rest —

Where a fond affection was ever blest —

He cried as he plumed his raven crest —

War! War! War!

 

From the mouldering flesh was torn apart

With a raven's skill and a raven's art,

Till the evil bird had reached the heart,

Crying again with an angry start —

War! War! War!

 

The heart that had once so proudly beat

In the quiet home or busy street,

With its hopes of life, was a raven's meat,

Mixed was the song with the morsel sweet —

War! War! War!

 

When the red moon lighted up the east,

The bird of song prolonged his feast,

With his idle time from Satan leased,

And hoarsely croaked like a savage beast —

War! War! War!

 

And with a fiendish pride he sank his beak,

Tearing the flesh from the manly cheek,

Swallowing still each quivering fleak,

Whilst the echoes catch his angry shriek —

War! War! War!

 

Then he lifts his head of the blackest dye,

The blood-stained beak strikes the hero's eye,

And in echoes reaching to the sky

Still hoarser comes the raven's cry—

War! War! War!

 

That cheek, that eye so kindly smiled

With a loving trust so pure and mild,

To bless perhaps, a wife or child,

Was food for the bird that sang so wild —

War! War! War!

September 15, 1864. Maysville Weekly Bulletin 3(13): 4.