Thrice welcome, darling of the spring ! Even yet thou art to me A voice, a mystery. The same, whom in my school-boy days I listen’d to: that cry Which made me look a thousand ways, In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Though woods and on the green: And thou wert still a hope, a love ; Still long'd for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet, Can lie upon the plain, And listen till I do beget That golden time again, TO THE OWL. Owl! that lovest the boding sky; In the murky air, What sawest thou there? For I heard, through the fog, thy screaming ! “ The maple's head Was glowing red, And red were the wings of the autumn sky; But a redder gleam Rose from the stream Owl! that lovest the stormy sky! Speak, oh! speak ! What crimsoned thy beak, “ 'Twas blood, 'twas blood ! And it rose like a flood, Owl! that lovest the midnight sky ! Again, again, Look! while the moon is hurrying by ! “ In the thicket's shade [eye !” You may see, through the boughs, his moveless Owl! that lovest the darken'd sky! A step beyond, From the silent pond “On the water's edge, Through the trampled sedge, A bubble burst, and gurgled by: My eyes were dim, But I look'd from the brim, Owl! that lovest the moonless sky! Where the casements blaze With the faggot's rays, Owl! what's this, That snort and hiss, 'Tis he! 'tis he ! He sits 'mid the three, Owl! that lovest the cloudy sky! Where clank the chains Through the prison panes, “ In her midnight dream, 'Tis a woman's scream, And she calls on one-on one of Three !” Look in once more, Through the grated door :“'Tis a soul that prays in agony!” Owl! that hatest the morning sky ! On thy pinions gray, Away !-away !- From the midnight chime, To morning prime,- T above splendid lines were written in reference to a murd whose details somewhat disgustingly occupied the public mind, in 1824, |