62 The Whip-Poor-lVai 
Nearer comes the mystic singer, 
Louder sounds the weird complaining, 
Then a pair of soft wings flutter 
Soundless, close above the bushes. 
In the sand beside the lake shore 
Drops the melancholy minstrel, 
And again his lamentation, 
Rhythmic, sad, with repetition, 
Throbs across Chocorua water, 
Echoes from the aspen forest. 
In the sand the singer lingers, 
Now^ and then a feline purring 
Seems to tell of solaced sorrow ; 
Not for long, for from his wallow^ 
Comes the mournful repetition. 
Broken by a gutt'ral clucking. 
Sobbing to the wakeful echo. 
Through the hours of moonlit darkness 
Comes incessantly the message. 
Now from shore, and now from forest, 
Now^ from hill, and now from meadow, 
