The Screech-owl
For spectators are not wanted
At the work of plucking fledglings—
Be they Jupiter and Mars!
The Grand-duke
Praise the Night, when we take vengeance
On the goldfinch for his beauty,
On the titmouse for his grace!
When the darkness takes possession
Let them tremble, those confiding
Hostages of Day’s!
The Wood-owl
For there is a choice in murder!
The Grand-duke
And the inkier the blackness
All the clearer do we see
To select the whitest pigeon
In the dove-cote, and the bluest
Blue jay on the shuddering tree!
The Barn-owl
Praise the hour and taste and relish
Of the eggs we suck, destroying
Hopes of many a haughty line!
The Screech-owl
And the councils where in whispers
We prepare what shall resemble
Accidents by every sign!
The Grand-duke
Praise the shadow’s grim suggestions!
The advantage over others
We inherit through their fright!
The Screech-owl
For our grisly cachinnations
Give the very eagle goose-flesh—
All Together
Praise our patroness, the Night!
The Grand-duke
And now let the Screech-Owl in his russet robe take the floor.