The Ravens of Hammer

There was a place,
A place we called Hammer,
Filled full of grace
By the ravens' clamor.
But now the guardians are lost and dead;
The last raven of Hammer bows his head.

In Hammer there was
A great lead-colored stone
Where women with cause
To mourn sleeping alone
Would come, and bear their children to be,
And then a great King our Hammer would see.

The ravens would come
And sit on the stone,
Cheering her without home
Who thought she was alone,
And sing the song of the King to be born,
Loud and thrilling as the gray hunting horn.

But now for long years
The stone has lain
Without laughter or tears,
Only washed by the rain.
And this fate was brought down on Hammer's head
By the first man to shoot a Hammer raven dead.

There was a place,
A place we called Hammer,
Filled full of grace
By the ravens' clamor.
But now the guardians are dying and gone,
For the last raven of Hammer at last has passed on.