102 THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



Sits on the roof-top, or rests on the trees, 

 And fills with strange accents the evening breeze. 

 And whip-poor-will, whip- whip- whip-poor-will, 

 Is the cry of the wandering night-bird still. 



SONG OF THE WHO-ARE-YOU GOATSUCKER. 



"Who-are-you ? who-who-who-are-you ? 



That come to rest by the cabin-door ; 

 Are you a faithful friend and true ? 



1 never have seen your face before. 

 How can I tell what honours are due, 

 Who-are-you ? who-who-who-are-you ? 



Who-are-you ? who-who-who-are-you ? 



Since my roaster's roof must shield your head ; 

 Foes are many, and friends are few, 



What claim have you to the pilgrim's bed ? 

 How can I tell what honours are due ? 

 Who-are-you ? who-who-who-are you ? 



SONG OF THE WILLY-COME-GO GOAT-SUCKER. 



Willy-willy- willy-come-go, 



I can no longer linger here ; 

 The evening breezes softly blow, 



The tranquil hour of night is near. 

 Where the crystal waters flow, 

 Where the lofty pine-trees grow, 

 "Willy-come-go, willy-willy- willy-come-go. 



