SONGS OF THE SEEDY.—No. VII.
I love the night with its mantle dark,
That hangs like a cloak on the face of the sky;
Oh what to me is the song of the lark?
Give me the owl; and I’ll tell you why.
It is that at night I can walk abroad,
Which I may not do in the garish day,
Without being met in the streets, and bored
By some cursed dun, that I cannot pay.
No! no! night let it ever be:
The owl! the owl! the owl! is the bird for me!
Then tempt me not with thy soft guitar,
And thy voice like the sound of a silver bell,
To take a stroll, where the cold ones are
Who in lanes, not of trees but of fetters11. Fetter-lane is clearly alluded to by the poet. It is believed to be the bailiffs’ quarter., dwell.
But wait until night upsets its ink
On the earth, on the sea, and all over the sky,
And then I’ll go to the wide world’s brink
With the girl I love, without feeling shy.
Oh, then, may it night for ever be!
The owl! the owl! the owl! is the bird for me!
But you turn aside! Ah! did you know,
What by searching the office you’d plainly see,
That I’m hunted down, like a (Richard) Roe,
You’d not thus avert your eyes from me.
Oh never did giant look after Thumb
(When the latter was keeping out of the way)
With a more tremendous fee-fo-fum
Than I’m pursued by a dread fi-fa.
Too-whit! too-whit! is the owl’s sad song!
A writ! a writ! a writ! when mid the throng,
Is ringing in my ears the whole day long.
Ah me! night let it be:
The owl! the stately owl! is the bird—yes, the bird for me!