258 
OUR HOME BIRDS. 
* Where the toad and lizard clamber 
Into many an ancient chamber, 
And below, the black rocks under, 
Like the muttering, coming thunder, 
Lowly muttering, rolling ever, 
Passes on the fordless river : — 
Yet I see the black night only 
Covering all, so deep and lonely. 
1 Prithee, Owl, what art thou saying, 
So terrific and dismaying ? 
Dost thou speak of loss and ruin, 
In that ominous tu-whoo-ing ? 
While the tempest yet was stiller. 
Homeward rode the kindly miller. 
With his drenched meal-sacks o’er him, 
And his little son before him ; 
Dripping wet, yet loud in laughter, 
Kode the jolly hunters after; 
And sore wet, and blown, and wildern, 
Went a huddling group of children, 
And each, through the tempest’s pother. 
Got home safely to its mother ; 
And ere afternoon was far on, 
Up the mountain spurred the baron. 
How can evil then betide ’em ? 
In their houses warm they hide ’em ; 
In his chimney-corner smoking, 
Sits the miller, spite thy croaking ; 
And the children, snug and cosy, 
In their beds sleep warm and rosy , 
