Away flew the crow to the house on the moor, A poor, old horse was tied to the door; The burning sod on the roof he dropped, Then upon the chimney stone he hopped, And down he peeped that he might see, How many there were in family-- There was a mother and children three. “Croak! croak!” the old crow did say. As from the roof he flew away, As he flew away to the tree, to watch The burning sod and the dry grey thatch, He stayed not long till he saw it smoke, Then he flapped his wings, and cried, “Croak, croak!” Away to the wood again, flew he, And soon he espied the slanting tree, And Jack, who stood laughing with all his might, His axe in his hand--he laughed for spite; In triumph he laughed, and took up a stone, And hammered his axe-head faster on; “Croak, croak!” came the carrion crow, Flapping his wings with a motion slow; “Thwack, thwack!” the spiteful man, When he heard his cry, with his axe began; “Thwack, thwack!” stroke upon stroke; The crow flew by with a “Croak, croak!” With a “Croak, croak!” again he came, Just as the house burst into flame. With a splitting crash, and a crackling sound, Down came the tree unto the ground; The old’s crow’s nest afar was swung; And the young ones here and there were flung; And just at that moment came up a cry, “Oh Jack, make haste, or else we die; The house is on fire, consuming all, Make haste, make haste, ere the roof tree fall!” The young crows every one were dead; But the old crow croaked above his head; And the mother-crow on Jack she springs, And flaps in his face her great, black wings; And all the while he hears a wail, That turns his cheek from red to pale-- ’Twas wife and children standing there Wringing their hands and tearing their hair! “Oh woe, our house is burnt to cinder, Bedding and clothes all turned to tinder; Down to the very hearth-stone clean, Such a dismal ruin ne’er was seen: What shall we do?--where must we go?” “Croak, croak!” says the carrion crow. * * * * * Now ye who read this story through, Heed well the moral--’tis for you;-- Strife brings forth strife; be meek and kind See all things with a loving mind; Nor e’er by passion be misled,-- Jack by himself was punished. THE LITTLE MARINER. Ay, sitting on your happy hearths, beside your mother’s knee, How should you know the miseries and dangers of the sea! My father was a mariner, and from my earliest years, I can remember, night and day, my mother’s prayers and tears. I can remember how she sighed when blew the stormy gale; And how for days she stood to watch the long-expected sail: Hers was a silent, patient grief; but fears and long delay, And wakeful nights and anxious days were wearing her away.