University of Virginia Library

There was a man, and his name was Jack,
Crabbed and lean, and his looks were black—
His temper was sour, his thoughts were bad;
His heart was hard when he was a lad.
And now he followed a dismal trade,
Old horses he bought, and killed, and flayed,
Their flesh he sold for the dogs to eat:
You would not have liked this man to meet.
He lived in a low mud-house on a moor,
Without any garden before the door.
There was one little hovel behind, that stood
Where he used to do his work of blood;
I never could bear to see the place,
It was stained and darkened with many a trace;
A trace of what I will not tell—
And then there was such an unchristian smell!
Now this old man did come and go,
Through the wood that grew in the dell below;
It was scant a mile from his own door-stone,
Darksome and dense, and overgrown;
And down in the drearest nook of the wood,
A tall and splintered fir-tree stood;
Half-way up, where the boughs outspread,
A carrion crow his nest had made,
Of sticks and reeds in the dark fir-tree,
Where lay his mate and his nestlings three;
And whenever he saw the man come by,
“Dead horse! dead horse!” he was sure to cry,
“Croak, croak!” If he went or came,
The cry of the crow was just the same.
Jack looked up as grim as could be,
And says, “What's my trade to the like of thee?”

“Dead horse! dead horse! croak, croak! croak, croak!”
As plain as words to his ear it spoke.
Old Jack stooped down, and picked up a stone,
A stout, thick stick, and dry cow's bone,
And one and the other all three did throw,
So angry was he, at the carrion crow;
But none of the three reached him or his nest,
Where his three young crows lay warm at rest;
And “Croak, croak! dead horse! croak, croak!”
In his solemn way again he spoke.
Old Jack was angry as he could be,
And says he, “On the morrow I'll fell thy tree—
I'll teach thee, old fellow, to rail at me!”
As soon as 'twas light, if there you had been,
Old Jack at his work you might have seen;
I would you'd been there to see old Jack,
And to hear the strokes as they came “thwack! thwack!”
And then you'd have seen how the croaking bird
Flew round as the axe's strokes he heard,
Flew round as he saw the shaking blow,
That came to his nest from the root below.
One after the other, stroke upon stroke;
“Thwack! thwack!” said the axe; said the crow “Croak! croak!”
Old Jack looked up with a leer in his eye,
And “I'll hew it down!” says he, “by-and-by
I'll teach thee to rail, my old fellow, at me!”
So he spit on his hands, and says, “have at the tree!”
“Thwack!” says the axe, as the bark it clove;
“Thwack!” as into the wood it drove;
“Croak!” says the crow in great dismay,
“Croak!” as he slowly flew away.
Flap, flap went his wings over hedge and ditch,
Till he came to a field of burning twitch:
The boy with a lighted lantern there,
As he stood on the furrow brown and bare,
He saw the old crow hop hither and thither,
Then fly with a burning sod somewhither.

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 were a mother and children three.
“Croak! croak!” the old crow did say,
As from the roof he flew away,
As he flew away to a tree, to watch
The burning sod and the dry, gray 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 crow's nest afar was swung,
And the young ones here and there were flung;
And just at that moment came up a cry,
“O 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.