LXXX. Thus counting, then, the Jackdaws' call A proper time to rise, And taking gratefully the sticks, And trying what they teach to fix Within my heart, and prize,— LXXXI. The Daws and I right pleasantly As neighbours do agree; And, truth to say, I think that noise, And work, that seem so fraught with joys, Have now their joys for me. LXXXII. Now, reader, do not reckon this But from it learn, how much of rest LXXXVII. THE OWL. "The beast of the field shall know me, the Dragons, and the Owls."-ISA. XLIII. 20. I. HEAR ye the solitary bird of night, With quivering tones hooting above his prey?— It is a fearful sound, that well may fright, To meet their death, the songsters of the day! II. And yet above, how calmly shines the moon! While Philomel's high notes of rapture thrill! O sing a dirge, lone minstrel! some sad tune For those who cheer the world when thou art still. III. Tell to the winds of night a tale of grief; Blend with their hollow tones a note of sorrow; Tell that the merry choir, which sang at eve, Will sing no welcome to the morn to-morrow! IV. While he that now is revelling in death, Triumphant o'er the deeds that he has done, Will lurk unheard, and tremble at the breath Of every breeze, and hide him from the sun! V. Ah, no! I wrong thee, wanderer of the night! Thy breast is guiltless, though thou shun the day: Sweetly thou sleepest through the hours of light; For thine in darkness is but destined prey. VI. 'Tis man alone offends in shedding blood! Thou know'st its deep, but not its guilty stain : Prompted by hunger keen, thou seekest food; Not power or pastime from another's pain. VII. Would that the world were innocent as thou! Thy looks but speak the wisdom of thy ways; And, though thy voice be quivering and low, Not Philomel's is more a voice of praise! LXXXVIII. THE MINSTREL'S REQUITAL. SERVANT of God! that even yet may lend sees. |