Poems

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POEMS BY KATHARINE TYNAN

BY

KATHARINE TYNAN

The Tree-lover

COUNTRY AIRS

To woods by a May-wind shaken, Full of the birds' replies!

Paradise woods in Spring, Scarcely than Earth's were sweeter; Every leaf's on the wing, All a-flutter, a-glitter.

Paradise woods in commotion. Tossed in a heavenly May; After the bitter ocean, Dear and homelike were they.

Lord of the world to be, Build me no jasper palace, But the young leaf on the tree, And the young bloom on the trellis!

The Violet Farm

No shortest day of all the year Should fade without a violet's cheer, Invisible sweetness hid within And folded up in swathes of green.

Though white and purple babes be born When Daffodil his flaming horn O'er quiet hills and vales shall sound And stir the sleepers underground;

What country bliss can equal mine, With violets for my flocks and kine, With violets for my corn and store? What could a mortal wish for more?

Under a mountain pansy-dark, Loved of the eagle and the lark, And set too low for fear or harm, 'Tis I would have a violet farm.

Sweet Pea

But in gold air and azure, Yet treads her heavenly measure; The winged sweet pea Dances for her sweet pleasure.

The Choice

Here are small apples growing round, And apricots all golden-gowned, And plums that presently will flush And show their bush a Burning Bush.

Cherries in nets against the wall, Where Master Thrush his madrigal Sings, and makes oath a churl is he Who grudges cherries for a fee.

Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here Shall Beauty make her pomander, Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes That wrap her as the leaves the rose.

Take roses red and lilies white, A kitchen-garden 's my delight; Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves, And its tall cote of irised doves.

The Hermit

And by his well shall angels lean And see the golden heads within; Their hands the date and fig shall bring To make his meal at evening.

Him shall no evil beast affright Since angels guard him day and night; The vultures they have fled afar From where God's feathered people are.

Sweet his estate who in the wild, No more mere mortal man exiled, Looks up, from his tear-watered sod, And sees in heaven the smile of God.

The Pastoral Pilgrim

Sweet peas and dappled mignonette Below my crystal window set, Clear air and lucent skies, And the dove's whispers and replies.

A garden and an orchard white And pink—an orchard 's my delight, Whose very name doth bring Airs of the summer, joy of spring.

And having these shall I repine For houses, houses in a line, With other men to dwell? Give me my staff and cockle-shell.

The Old Love

This is that country seen across, How many a league of love and loss, Prayed for and longed for, and as far As fountains in the desert are.

This is that country at my door, Whose fragrant airs run on before, And call me when the first birds stir In the green wood to walk with her.

The Footpath Way

The fountains of the meadows play, This is the wild bee's holiday; When summer-snows have sweetly drest The pasture like a wedding-guest,

By fields of beans that shall eclipse The honey on the rose's lips, With woodruff and the new hay's breath, And wild thyme sweetest in her death.

Skirting the rich man's lawn and hall, The footpath way is free to all; For us his pinks and roses blow: Fling him thanksgiving ere we go!

By orchards yet in rosy veils, By hidden nests of nightingales, Through lonesome valleys where all day The rabbit people scurry and play.

The footpath sets her tender lure, This is the country for the poor; The high-road seeks the crowded sea; Come, take the footpath way with me!

Poppy

The poppy wears her silk and lace, Clear-starched, with such a delicate grace, Her silken flounces hides and shows As the wind goes and blows.

Baby's Song

THE CHILDREN

The Child's Call

Afar, where heavenly waters flow 'Mid Paradisal calms, All on a sward where lilies blow The Shepherd counts his lambs.

Afar, beyond the wintry cold Upon the heavenly hill, A little lamb a few weeks old Bleats for his mother still.

O mother's love and mother's joy! But while I come in haste, I hear another lovely boy Cry from the lonely past.

And while I kiss your curls aside And hold you to my breast, I kiss the little boy that died, That will not let me rest.

Blue Eyes

Our little boy with wondering eyes, I wonder will they wonder still, Or meet our own with no surprise When we come over the hill!

The Only Child

All day, with forethought mild and grave, The little angel 's quick to save. And still outruns with tender haste The adventurous feet that go too fast.

From draughts, from fire, from cold and stings, Wraps him within his gauzy wings; And knows his father's pride, and shares His happy mother's tears and prayers.

The Nurse

She is as pretty and as brown As the wood's children far from town, As bright-eyed, glancing, shy of men As any squirrel, any wren.

Tender she is to beast and bird, As in her breast some memory stirred Of days when those were kin of hers Who go in feathers and in furs.

A child, yet is the children's law, And rules by love and rules by awe. And, stern at times, is kind withal As a girl-baby with her doll.

Outside the nursery door there lies The world with all its griefs and sighs, Its needs, its sins, its stains of sense: Within is only innocence.

April

MANY MOODS

Here in this town that kills, The heart for cold is wrung. It 's O for the happy Aprils When I was young!

Slow Spring

Grow slowly, year, like a child that is dear, Or a lamb that is mild, By little steps, and by little skips, Like a lamb or a child.

The Faithful Lover

He has acres and crops and a mansion and cattle, And a proud name well honoured on old fields of battle; With his gold locks, his blue eyes, his smile true and tender, 'Tis to him many a young maid her love would surrender, For sunshine or shadow.

Now sleep, my sweet sorrow, as a babe with its mother On the breast that shall know not the child of another. Go bid my young sister, with eyes gay and fearless, To comfort this young man for a cold heart and cheerless, The heart of a widow.

The Weeping Babe

And here are red roses, And grapes from the vine, And a lamb trotting softly, Thy playfellow fine.

Now smile, little Jesus, Whom naught can defile; All gifts will I give Thee An thou wilt but smile.

But it 's lullaby, my Baby! And mournful am I, Thou cherished little Jesus, That still Thou wilt cry.

Mountain Rose

Winter's black on heather and broom, Where shall I find honey? Rose's mouth is the honeycomb, And Rose's laugh is sunny.

Black and cold the North Wind blows, Winter comes in fairly. I keep Summer with Mountain Rose Among the stubble barley.

The Birds' Bargain

The blackbirds sing the whole year long, Here where they keep their promise given, And do the mellowing fruit no wrong, Brother Benignus smiles in heaven.

Green Bushes

Ah, forget that I made you sad, Yet remember I made you glad.

The green bushes grow gray and vernal, Spring comes back and Love is eternal; In your arms come kiss, forgive me: Had you ever the heart to grieve me, Ochone?

Immortality

To hear the cuckoo the first time, And 'mid new roses in the prime To read the poets newly. This, Year after year, shall be my bliss.

Of me shall Love be born anew, I shall be loved and lover too; Years after this poor body has died Shall be the bridegroom and the bride

Of me shall mothers spring to know The mother's bliss, the mother's woe; And children's children yet to be Shall learn their prayers about my knee.

And many million lights of home Shall light for me the time to come. Unto me much shall be forgiven, I that make many souls for heaven.

Parenthood

This fashioned I of joy, Much hope, without a stain, Pure gold without alloy Redeemed in mine own pain. For this the wine-press trod, Ensanguined to the knee. Afterwards—saith our God— Ye will account to Me.

For every needless tear, For all the smiles unsmiled, For lonely wrong and fear Wrought on My little child, Myself will exact the fee, A God of wrath and scorn: Better that day that ye Were dead ere ye were born.

Contrariwise—His wrath Our Lord God put away— Your watchful love till death I will repay, repay. Lord of the skies and lands Take pity on Thy dust. Strengthen our mortal hands Lest we betray Thy trust!

Recall

Straight to that tender heart, By the dim water. If they might never part, Mother and daughter!

The Legend of St. Austin and the Child

Forgetting mortal dearth It seized on heavenly things, Till it was cast again to earth, Because it had not wings.

Because the Three in One He could not understand, Baffled and beaten and undone, He gazed o'er sea and land.

Then by a little pool A lovely child he saw; A harmless thing and beautiful, And yet so full of awe.

That with a curved sea-shell, Held in his rosy hand, Had scooped himself a little well Within the yielding sand.

And to and fro went he, Between it and the wave, Bearing his shell filled with the sea, To find a sandy grave.

"What is it that you do, You lovely boy and bold?" "I empty out the ocean blue. You man so wise and old!

"See you how in this cup I bind the great sea's girth!" "Ah no, the gray sands suck it up Your cup is little worth.

"Now put your play aside, And let the ocean be. Tell me your name, O violet-eyed, That empty out the sea!

"What lineage high and fine Is yours, O kingly boy, That sure art sprung of royal line, A people's hope and joy."

"Austin, as you have said, A crown my Sire doth wear, My mother was a royal maid And yet went cold and bare."

He shook his golden curls, A scornful laugh laughed he. "The night that I was born, the churls, They would not shelter me.

"Only the ox and ass, The night that I was born, Made me a cradle of the grass And watched by me till morn.

"The night that I was born The ass and ox alone, Betwixt the midnight and the morn, Knelt down upon the stone.

"The bitter night I came, Each star sang in its sphere. Now riddle, riddle me my name, My Austin tried and dear."

Austin is on his face, Before that vision bright. "My Lord, what dost Thou in this place With such a sinful wight?"

"I come not here in wrath, But I come here in love, My Austin, skilled in life and death, Thy vanity to prove.

"Mortal, yet over-bold To fly where th' eagle flies, As soon this cup the sea will hold As thou My Mysteries.

"Patience a little yet, And thou shalt be with Me, And in thy soul's small cup unmeet Myself will pour the sea."

When Austin raised his head No child was there beside, But in the cup the Child had made There swelled the rising tide.

A Child's Day

SHAMROCKS

And in the long day's waning The skies grew rose and amber, And palest green and gold, With a moon's white flame: And if came wind and raining. Gray hours I don't remember; Nor how the warm year waxed cold, And deathly Autumn came.

Only of that young time The bright things I remember; How orchard boughs were laden red, And blackberries so brave Came ere the frost and rime— The dreary dark November, With dripping black boughs overhead, And dead leaves on a grave.

The Heart of a Mother

You answer not my call Across the gray sea-wall.

I follow, with wet eyes, Your boat's white lonely track; But vex you not with sighs, Nor long that you were back: Your boat with sails of snow Came safe to port, I know.

O is the new land fair That you have journeyed to, With floods of amber air, And hills of marvellous hue, And a city's shining spires Fashioned of day-dawn's fires?

O is it a pleasant country That you are come unto, With leaves on the greenwood tree, And birds above in the blue, And shades below the trees Where the weary dream at ease,

And little children playing On a green and golden mead, And One o'er the greensward straying Whose face I know indeed,— The dead face on the rood, The dear face, kind and good?

O safe for evermore, With never a weird to dree; Is any burden sore When one's beloved goes free? Come pain, come woe to me, My well-beloved goes free!

You are so far away, And yet are come so near; On many a heavy day I think of you, my dear, Safe in your shelter there, Christ's hand upon your hair.

Sanctuary

Seeking still this palace hall Where Thou holdest festival.

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Stirs the tender heart in Thee? Lo! two weary souls that stand, Heart in heart, and hand in hand, Where the shadow thickeneth— One in life, and one in death!

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" Still unweary pleaded she. "Lo! Thine own lamb, at Thy gate, Whom didst early seek and late, Whom didst ransom with Thy Blood;— Ope, Lord Jesus, dear and good!"

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Was the Bridegroom fair to see, Sitting at the table-head Where His shining Supper spread; Fair the guests, all clad in white, Each clear brow enaureoled bright.

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! And the gold cup lifted He, With His lovely eyes ashine, Brake the bread, and poured the wine. Sudden through the banquet-hall Rang the faint insistent call.

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! "Lo! is one that calleth me!" Oh, the Bridegroom goeth fast With a sudden tender haste, Flings the gold door open wide— Midnight, and the storm outside!

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! "Thou hast tarried long," saith He; And His own lamb gathereth, Weak and drenched with dews of death. One hath turned her round and gone Back to earth—alone, alone.

St. Francis to the Birds

Little flowers of air, With your feathers soft and sleek, And your bright brown eyes and meek, He hath made you fair.

He hath taught to you Skill to weave in tree and thatch Nests where happy mothers hatch Speckled eggs of blue.

And hath children given: When the soft heads overbrim The brown nests, then thank ye Him In the clouds of heaven.

Also in your lives Live His laws Who loveth you. Husbands, be ye kind and true; Be home-keeping, wives—

Love not gossiping; Stay at home and keep the nest; Fly not here and there in quest Of the newest thing.

Live as brethren live: Love be in each heart and mouth; Be not envious, be not wroth, Be not slow to give.

When ye build the nest, Quarrel not o'er straw or wool; He who hath been bountiful To the neediest.

Be not puffed nor vain Of your beauty or your worth, Of your children or your birth, Or the praise you gain.

Eat not greedily: Sometimes for sweet mercy's sake, Worm or insect spare to take; Let it crawl or fly.

See ye sing not near To our church on holy day, Lest the human-folk should stray From their prayers to hear.

Now depart in peace: In God's name I bless each one; May your days be long i' the sun And your joys increase.

And remember me, Your poor brother Francis, who Loves you, and gives thanks to you For this courtesy.

Sometimes when ye sing, Name my name, that He may take Pity for the dear song's sake On my shortcoming.

The Children of Lir

BALLADS AND LYRICS

Long the swans have wandered over lake and river. Gone is all the glory of the race of Lir, Gone and long forgotten like a dream of fever: But the swans remember the sweet days that were.

Hugh, the black and white swan with the beauteous feathers, Fiachra, the black swan with the emerald breast, Conn, the youngest, dearest, sheltered in all weathers, Him his snow-white sister loves the tenderest. These her mother gave her as she lay a-dying; To her faithful keeping; faithful hath she been, With her wings spread o'er them when the tempest 's crying, And her songs so hopeful when the sky 's serene.

Other swans have nests made 'mid the reeds and rushes, Lined with downy feathers where the cygnets sleep Dreaming, if a bird dreams, till the daylight blushes, Then they sail out swiftly on the current deep. With the proud swan-father, tall, and strong, and stately, And the mild swan-mother, grave with household cares, All well-born and comely, all rejoicing greatly: Full of honest pleasure is a life like theirs.

But alas! for my swans, with the human nature, Sick with human longings, starved for human ties, With their hearts all human cramped to a bird's stature, And the human weeping in the bird's soft eyes, Never shall my swans build nests in some green river, Never fly to Southward in the autumn gray, Rear no tender children, love no mates for ever, Robbed alike of bird's joys and of man's are they.

Babbles Conn the youngest, "Sister, I remember At my father's palace how I went in silk, Ate the juicy deer-flesh roasted from the ember, Drank from golden goblets my child's draught of milk. Once I rode a-hunting, laughed to see the hurly, Shouted at the ball-play, on the lake did row; You had for your beauty gauds that shone so rarely." "Peace," saith Fionnuala, "that was long ago."

"Sister," saith Fiachra, "well do I remember How the flaming torches lit the banquet-hall, And the fire leapt skyward in the mid-December, And among the rushes slept our staghounds tall. By our father's right hand you sat shyly gazing, Smiling half and sighing, with your eyes a-glow. As the bards sang loudly all your beauty praising." "Peace," saith Fionnuala, "that was long ago."

"Sister," then saith Hugh, "most do I remember One I called my brother, one, earth's goodliest man, Strong as forest oaks are where the wild vines clamber, First at feast or hunting, in the battle's van. Angus, you were handsome, wise and true, and tender, Loved by every comrade, feared by every foe: Low, low, lies your beauty, all forgot your splendour." "Peace," saith Fionnuala, "that was long ago."

Dews are in the clear air, and the roselight paling, Over sands and sedges shines the evening star, And the moon's disc lonely high in heaven is sailing. Silvered all the spear-heads of the rushes are,—

Housed warm are all things as the night grows colder Water-fowl and sky-fowl dreamless in the nest; But the swans go drifting, drooping wing and shoulder Cleaving the still water where the fishes rest.

Sheep and Lambs

All in the April evening, April airs were abroad; I saw the sheep with their lambs, And thought on the Lamb of God.

Of an Angel

In noon-day gold, in moonlight snow, I know the precious things I know, Hidden not from my love-keen sight By dazzle of day and mirk of night.

Mine Angel's praying hands and meek, The pure young outline of his cheek, His grave young mouth, his brow like snow, His everlasting eyes I know.

Love lights his taper at those eyes, O, stainless Bird of Paradise! Love in your heart to Love divine Has built a temple and a shrine.

O lips that bless, and eyes that yearn, And sometimes sad, but never stern, Dearest, my friend, my gift of God, Companion on my dangerous road.

Stay with me, though the day be long, And Heaven is lonelier for your song; Though I be sad, and all my plea Is only my sad poverty.

Cuckoo Song

In June He changes his tune. A young man's fancy changes soon. O, Love! Fleet was June, fleet was June!

Cuckoo, cuckoo! His notes are faint and few, The lily is dying too, For the rose there is rue. In July Away will he fly, His notes blown back from an empty sky. O, Love! Sad was July, sad was July.

Cuckoo, cuckoo! No more we listen to The roving note we knew, I and you. In August Go he must, Love and lovers will turn to dust. O, Love! Cold is August, cold is August!

Second Sight

Brigid, lost in praying, Touched her sister's eyes; "O," she said, "my sister, Dove of God, arise! Eyes no longer sightless. See His glory spread!" Dara, with a loud cry, Lifted up her head.

Saw the little rivers Glide through bogland brown, Where the yellow iris Flaunted her gold gown. Saw the sea of scarlet Flush on hill and wood; Praised God's name, rejoicing That his works were good.

"Yet," she said, "my sister. Blind me once again, Lest His presence in me Groweth less plain. Stars and dawn and sunset Keep till Paradise, Here His face sufficeth For my sightless eyes."

"O!" she said, "my sister, Night is beautiful, Where His face is shining Who was mocked as fool.

More than star and meteor, More than moon or sun, Is the thorn-crowned forehead Of the Holy One."

"Haste," she said, "and plunge me Once again in night, Lest perchance I lose Him, Gaining my sight." Brigid, lost in praying, Touched her eyes once more, And the light went fading Off sea and shore.

All His creatures praise Him, From daylight to dun. Stars and moon and cloudland, And Messer the Sun; Seas and hills and forests, And the frozen waste: Dara in her blindness Praiseth him best.

To Rose in Heaven

<>II

You need not fear again The East Wind and the snows, Nor dree your weird of pain, Sickness and dying, Rose. In God's land summer is, And health and youth and bliss.

You need not go away, When going was like death, For leave to live your day, For leave to draw your breath. In God's land where you stray, Sweet is the summer day.

You need not have for friend House-mate and bed-fellow, Pain that had never an end, And sickness sad and slow; Or lie the long night through While life ebbed out from you.

O there is no home-sickness, Because it is our home; Nor labour nor distress, Nor watching wearisome. You need not fear the snows, North Wind nor East Wind, Rose!

<>III

I hope you will not wear in Heaven A different face from that we knew, Rose, like the rose that morn and even Hath sun and dew!

Wear no new smiles, but smile as when You were our own, to heal and bless, Drawing from heavy hearts of men Their heaviness.

Be just so kind, be just so brave, There in your glory infinite! No primrose growing on your grave Is half so sweet

As you, my dear, were in the world. You left your own place desolate. The pale spring foliage is uncurled And the birds mate

The pleasant days you loved of yore. I think that where you are, my dear. You love the things you loved before When you were here.

Wear no new face, but keep the old, Look from your glory and your grace, From underneath the rays of gold With the old face!

Of St. Francis and the Ass

And once his manger was Empty and bare, and brown. (Praise God for sweet, dry grass That Bethlehem folk shook down!)

"Consider, brethren," said he, "Our little brother; how mild, How patient, he will be, Though men are fierce and wild. His coat is gray and fine, His eyes are kind with love; This little brother of mine Is gentle as the dove.

"Consider how such an one Beheld our Saviour born, And carried him, full-grown, Through Eastern streets one morn. For this the Cross is laid Upon him for a sign. Greatly is honoured This little brother of mine."

And even while he spake, Down in his stable stall His little ass 'gan shake And turned its face to the wall. Down fell the heavy tear; Its gaze so mournful was, Fra Leo, standing near, Pitied the little ass.

That night our father died, All night the kine did low: The ass went heavy-eyed, With patient tears and slow. The very birds on wings Made mournful cries in the air. Amen! all living things Our father's brethren were.

The Fairy Babe

The fairy woman, with magic skill, Came full of charms to work you ill; I stood up in a sudden anger And snatched you into my breast from danger. Hush, O! Sleep, little fairy, sleep, All that I have to keep; For on your face that is pinched and weary I saw a look of my own own dearie. Hush, O!

My boy that went in the wild morning Shall wear a crown and a gay gold ring, Shall ride a splendid horse when he 's older, With cloak of velvet upon his shoulder. Hush, O! Sleep, little fairy, sleep, Stars are beginning to peep, And may your mother my wee son cherish That so he go not milkless and perish. Hush, O!

St. Francis and the Wolf

And with the Cross signed him: The wolf fell back a-stare, Sat on his haunches there, Forbidding, black, and grim.

"Come nearer, in Christ's name," Said Francis, and, so bid, Like a small dog that 's chid, The fierce beast fawning came,

Trotting against his side, And licked the tender hand That with soft touch and bland Caressed his wicked hide.

"Brother," the Saint said then, "Who gave thee leave to kill? Thou hast slain of thine own will Not only beasts but men.

"And God is wroth with thee: If thou wilt not repent His anger shall be sent To smite thee terribly.

"See, all men hate thy name, And with it mothers fright The froward child by night; Great are thy sin and shame.

"All true dogs thee pursue; Thou shouldst hang high in air, Like a thief and murderer, Hadst thou thy lawful due.

"Yet, seeing his hands have made Even thee, thou wicked one, I bring no malison, But blessing bring instead.

"And I will purchase peace Between this folk and thee, So love for hate shall be, And all thy sinning cease.

"Say, wilt thou have it so?" Thereat, far off, we saw The beast lift up his paw His tail a-wagging go.

Our father took the paw Into his blessed hand, Knelt down upon the sand Facing the creature's jaw.

That was a sight to see: Agobio's folk trooped out; They heard not all that rout, Neither the beast nor he.

For he was praying yet, And on his illumined face A shamed and loving gaze The terrible wolf had set.

When they came through the town, His hand that beast did stroke, He spake unto the folk Flocking to touch his gown.

A sweet discourse was this: He prayed them that they make Peace, for the Lord Christ's sake, With this poor wolf of His;

And told them of their sins, How each was deadlier far Than wolves or lions are, Or sharks with sword-like fins.

Afterwards some came near, Took the beast's paw and shook, And answered his sad look With words of honest cheer.

Our father, ere he went, Bade that each one should leave Some food at morn and eve For his poor penitent.

And so, three years or more, The wolf came morn and even, Yea, long forgiven and shriven, Fed at each townsman's door;

And grew more gray and old, Withal so sad and mild, Him feared no little child Sitting in the sun's gold.

The women, soft of heart, Trusted him and were kind; Men grew of equal mind; None longer stepped apart.

The very dogs, 'twas said, Would greet him courteously, And pass his portion by, Though they went on unfed.

But when three years were gone He came no more, but died. In a cave on the hillside; You may count each whitening bone.

And then it came to pass All gently of him spake, For Francis his dear sake, Whose Brother Wolf this was.

The Fairy Foster-Mother

Her smile was strange and still, She held her eyelids down; She went by the ruined mill By the ragweed yellow and brown, Into the field forlorn, With fairy rings on the ground. In the gloom of the fairy thorn Were fairies circling around.

She is gone on the fairies' horse The ragweed, yellow and sly. She will be a fairy's nurse And wipe the tear from his eye; And her own wee troublesome lad May pine, and she will not come: Her husband be crazed and sad, But she will never come home.

Never, never again, Ailie, Though long we look for you, Never in sun or rain, Ailie, Never in dusk or dew. With your night-black hair like silk, Ailie, And your eyes like the sky, And your skin as white as milk, Ailie, Ailie Carroll, good-bye!

Michael the Archangel

His fiery sword is never at rest, His foot is in the stirrup prest; Through all the world where wrong is done Michael the Soldier rideth on.

Michael, Commander! Angels are That sound the trumpet, and that bear The banners by the Throne, where is The King one nameth on one's knees.

Angels there are of peace and prayers, And them that go with wayfarers, And them that watch the house of birth, And them that bring the dead from earth.

And mine own Angel. Yet I see, Heading God's army gloriously, Michael Archangel, like a sun, Splendid beyond comparison!

Of St. Francis: His Wrath

And oftentimes he raised his hand Blessing those little birds, Who piped in answer to his words, As they could understand.

But this young lark of whom I tell, Content not with his share Of worms and flies and such-like fare, Cruel, insatiable,

Upon his little brethren set, And with his beak them slew. It chanced our father came thereto While yet the blood was wet;