In Rome, beside the Forum,

A cobbler had his shop,

Where, on his way to school,

The schoolboy loved to stop.

The sheets of well-tanned leather

Hung all about the wall;

The cobbler stitched and scolded,

Bent over last and awl.

’Twas not the cobbler’s scolding

At which the schoolboys laughed,

Nor did they care to watch

His cunning handicraft.

It was a dapper person

With coat as black as night,

That offered to the schoolboy

An all-year-round delight—

A droll yet silent person,

“Good morrow”—all his speech;

He stood upon a rostrum,

As though to teach or preach.

It was the cobbler’s raven,

“Good morrow!” clear and loud

He called, with mimic laughter

That charmed the truant crowd,

Until, at last, reminded

Of school and pedagogue,

Of lecture, and of ferrule

To point his apologue.

And now, would Master Corvus,

To while the time away,

Look ’round, to see what mischief

He might devise to-day.

Alas, the raven’s cunning

No bound nor measure knew;

Alas, the cobbler’s temper—

It never better grew!

And when his choicest leather

Embossed with claw and beak,

He saw—upon the raven

Swift vengeance he did wreak!

Which done, morose and sullen,

He sat him down once more;

Nor scolded when the schoolboys

Called through the open door:

“Good morrow, Master Corvus!”...

No shrill and joyous croak

Responded from within;

And then their anger broke.

“How daredst thou kill the raven,—

The better man of two?”

They seized and beat the cobbler,

Till he for life did sue.

Then took they Master Corvus

From where he lifeless lay—

Their dear and droll companion,

And carried him away.

Said one, “There is a duty

Which to our friend we owe:

In life we gave him honor,

And honor still we’ll show!”

“That will we!” cried they warmly

(Young Romans long ago)—

“In life we gave him honor,

And honor still we’ll show!”

Next day, along the Forum,

With slow and measured tread,

Defiled the long cortÈge

Of Master Corvus dead.

His bier was heaped with garlands,

A piper went before;

And (as they had been kinsmen)

Two blacks the casket bore.

Then, down the Via Sacra

The sad procession moved,

While at their doors and windows

The people all approved.

And thus to Master Corvus

Full rites his friends did pay,

And buried him, ’tis said,

Beside the Appian Way,

With lightly sprinkled earth

Above his glossy breast—

With stone, and due inscription,

Hic jacet—and the rest.