Upon the cottage roof the Whip-poor-will
That night sang mournful to the conscious glade;
The lonely owl forsook her valley still,
And perched and hooted in the neighboring shade;
The wolf returned, and lapped the purling rill,
Sate on its marge, and at the cottage bayed;
From all its howling depths the desert came,
And seemed its lost dominion to reclaim.