Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Greece and Turkey in Europe: Vol. XIX. 1876–79.
Song of the Crow
By Anonymous
L
We have a petitioner;
Name and lineage would ye know?
’T is Apollo’s child, the Crow;
Waiting till your hands dispense
Gift of barley, salt, or pence.
He ’s not one who picks and chooses;
Naught that ’s proffered he refuses.
Who, to-day, gives salt, he knows
Next day fig or honey throws.
Open, open, gate and door:
Mark! the moment we implore,
Comes the daughter of the squire
With such figs as wake desire.
Maiden, for this favor done,
May thy fortunes, as they run,
Ever brighten. Be thy spouse
Rich, and of a noble house;
May thy sire, in aged ease,
Nurse a boy who calls thee mother;
And his grandam, on her knees,
Rock a girl, who calls him brother;
Kept as bride, in reservation,
For some favored near relation.
But enough now; I must tread
Where my feet and eyes are led;
Dropping at each door a strain,
Let me lose my suit or gain.
To the lord, and still more to the lady, we look:
Custom warrants the suit;—let it still then bear sway;
And your Crow, as in duty most bounden, shall pray.