Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence--
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Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence--
Some to kill canters in the musk-rose buds,
Some war with reremice for their leathren wings,
To make my small elves coats, and some keep back
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits.

It is the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman
Which gives the stern'st good-night.

It is the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman
Which gives the stern'st good-night.

The large white owl that with eye is blind,
That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow,
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The large white owl that with eye is blind,
That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow,
Is carried away in a gust of wind.

In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower,
The spectral Owl doth dwell;
Dull, hated, despised, read more

In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower,
The spectral Owl doth dwell;
Dull, hated, despised, in the sunshine hour,
But at the dusk--he's abroad and well!
Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him--
All mock him outright, by day:
But at night, when the woods grow still and dim,
The boldest will shrink away!
O, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl,
Then, then, is the reign of the Horned Owl!

Then lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade,
Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed.

Then lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade,
Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed.

The wailing owl
Screams solitary to the mournful moon.

The wailing owl
Screams solitary to the mournful moon.

The Roman senate, when within
The city walls an owl was seen,
Did cause their clergy, with read more

The Roman senate, when within
The city walls an owl was seen,
Did cause their clergy, with lustrations
. . . .
The round-fac'd prodigy t' avert,
From doing town or country hurt.

St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.

St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.

The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,
Portends strange things, old women say;
Stops every fool that passes by,
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The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,
Portends strange things, old women say;
Stops every fool that passes by,
And frights the school-boy from his play.