Waking the echoes far and wide;
They whirl in a crowd through the ruined church,
Or up to the belfry glide.
The little screech-owl makes a horrid din;
While the great white owl looks wise;
And the horned owl nods his head, and blinks;
As around the lamp he flies.
The lamp is a cup, half filled with oil,
That swings from a broken beam;
And, over the traveler sleeping below,