He rode to battle, armour bright,
He was a proud and cruel knight.
They passed a raven in a tree,
“That is an evil sign.” said he.
“Shoot the black raven, kill the bird.”
And one of his retainers heard,
A bolt from his crossbow shot and sped
And in a trice the bird was dead.
That day the armies met and clashed,
Hopes were raised and hopes were dashed.
The knight fought hard, with might and main
But overwhelmed, at last was slain.
The cruel knight is cold and dead,
His earthly greatness is all fled.
Now on the battlefield he lies
And ravens come to take his eyes.