Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain,
And scorns the humble quire. The wood-lark asks
A lowly dwelling, hid beneath some tuft,
Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof:
Songster beloved! who to the sun such lays
Pours forth as earth ne’er owns. Within the boughs
The sparrow lays her spotted eggs. The barn,
With eaves o’er-pendent, holds the chattering tribe.
Secret the linnet seeks the tangled wood,
The white owl seeks some antique ruined wall,