In the higher order of legends—in those which record facts or dim histories of exceeding antiquity, or in which are embalmed the deeds of the remote hero, though even more faded than his features on the mouldering wall or the faded marble—young America pleads her youth. But not without product—and as that which has been shall be again, as legends and traditions like to those of other nations will very probably be amongst the results of American mind, there is one American name, perhaps as yet one only, which may become mythical or even now is. When thousands of years shall have rolled away, and the annals of the present age shall be known only to the scholar and the antiquary of those times in precious scraps and fragments, the adjusting of which shall require the skilfulness of learning, some future Lepsius or Layard may recognise in a wise Minos or in a just Nemesis, the American Washington.
The Republic of the United States has acquired its position as a nation, and in fact has existed only in an age of enlightenment, and the universal attention to education and the diffusion of general knowledge which happily has ever prevailed in a degree not exceeded in any country, has necessarily prevented in a great measure the forming of orally transmitted histories or of legendary fables, and there being no ruins of buildings nor other evidences of the decay of past ages, our people do not associate with ideas of desolation, animals which might have found suitable habitations in such localities, nor have they attributed traditional associations or characters.
We have no birds of ill omen, and even the long-defamed Owl has escaped his usual reputation; not that he is regarded with favor, rather the reverse; but for other reason than attributed connexion with supernatural agents; nor is his appearance in the neighborhood of the farm-house or the settler’s cabin regarded as at all ominous, except of immediate danger to whatever of the domestic poultry may have attracted his attention, or in any degree foreboding, unless of his own abrupt demise in case he happens to be observed by the proprietor, having at hand his trusty rifle or fowling-piece. The owl takes the greater risk in such an adventure.
On account, in some measure, of their peculiar forms, particularly their large heads and staring eyes, their nocturnal habits, and their habitually resorting in the day-time to secluded haunts in the forest or other little-frequented localities, no animals have been more invariably regarded as of evil portent than owls. And in this character they have found a place in the literature, and especially the poetry, of nearly all nations ancient and modern. The Latin writers seldom fail to mention the appearance of the owl among the omens and prodigies which they frequently enumerate as having preceded disasters to the state or to distinguished personages. Pliny in his Natural History, gravely devotes a chapter to Inauspicious Birds, and gives the owl a post of distinction in this manner: “The owl, a dismal bird, and very much dreaded in public auguries, inhabits deserts which are not only desolate, but dreary and inaccessible: it is a monster of night, nor does it possess any voice but a groan. Thus, when it is seen in towns or in daylight, it is an omen to be dreaded.” Book x., chapter 12. The poets give him the same reputation, but perhaps only in the legitimate exercise of their art. The poet is privileged in the entire domain of nature, and Virgil and Shakspeare have forever commemorated, though somewhat infamously, the Owl. The former alludes to it as one of numerous precursors of the death of Dido:
“Solaque culminibus ferali carmine bubo
Sæpe queri, et longas in fletum ducere voces.”
“Whilst lonely on the roof, night’s bird prolongs
The notes of woe, and shrieks funereal songs.”
Shakspeare uses the Owl in the same capacity of direful portent. Thus Casca, in allusion to omens preceding the death of Cæsar:
“And yesterday, the bird of night did sit