OUR HOME BIRDS. 
257 
savage cries at night give, with vulgar minds, a cast 
of supernatural horror to those venerable, moulder- 
ing piles of antiquity/ This owl is said, when asleep, 
to make a blowing noise like a man snoring. It is 
about fourteen inches long. 
“ Here is a piece of poetry about the owl, with 
which we will close up our talk : 
‘‘ 1 THE OWL. 
‘ Pray thee, Owl, what art thou doing, 
With that dolefullest tu-whoo-ing? 
Dark the night is, dark and dreary, 
Never a little star shines cheery ; 
Wild north winds come up the hollow, 
And the pelting rain doth follow ; 
And the trees, the tempest braving, 
To and fro are wildly waving . 
Every living thing is creeping 
To its den, and silence keeping, 
Saving thou, the night hallooing 
With thy dismallest tu-whoo-ing. 
1 Naught I see, so black the night is, 
Black the storm, too, in its might is ; 
But I know there lies the forest, 
Peril ever there the sorest, 
Where the wild deer-stealers wander ; 
And the ruin lieth yonder, 
Splintered tower and crumbling column 
All among the yew trees solemn, 
R 
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