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Robert Stephen Hawker (Роберт Хоукер) A Croon on Hennacliff THUS said the rushing raven Unto his hungry mate,— “Ho! gossip! for Bude Haven: There be corpses six or eight. Cawk! cawk! the crew and skipper Are wallowing in the sea: So there ’s a savory supper For my old dame and me.” “Cawk! gaffer! thou art dreaming, The shore hath wreckers bold; Would rend the yelling seamen, From the clutching billows hold. Cawk! cawk! they ’d bound for booty Into the dragon’s den: And shout, for ‘death or duty,’ If the prey were drowning men.” Loud laughed the listening surges At the guess our grandame gave: You might call them Boanerges, From the thunder of their wave. And mockery followed after The sea-bird’s jeering brood: That filled the skies with laughter, From Lundy Light to Bude. “Cawk! cawk!” then said the raven, “I am fourscore years and ten, Yet never in Bude Haven Did I croak for rescued men.— They will save the captain’s girdle, And shirt, if shirt there be; But leave their blood to curdle For my old dame and me.” So said the rushing raven Unto his hungry mate,— “Ho! gossip! for Bude Haven: There be corpses six or eight. Cawk! cawk! the crew and skipper Are wallowing in the sea: O, what a savory supper For my old dame and me.” Robert Stephen Hawker's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1218 |
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