THE WHIPPOORWILL AND I.

IN the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still,

I hear the strange cry of the lone whippoorwill,

Who Chants, without ceasing, that wonderful trill,

Of which the sole burden is still, “Whip-poor-Will.”

And why should I whip him? Strange visitant,

Has he been playing truant this long summer day?

I listened a moment; more clear and more shrill

Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, “Whip-poor-Will.”

But what has poor Will done? I ask you once more;

I'll whip him, do n't fear, if you'll tell me what for.

I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill

Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, “Whip-poor-Will.”

Has he come to your dwelling, by night or by day,

And snatched the young birds from their warm nest away?

I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill

Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, “Whip-poor-Will.”

Well, well, I can hear you, do n't have any fears,

I can hear what is constantly dinned in my ears.

The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill,

Still made but one answer, and that, “Whip-poor-Will.”

But what HAS poor Will done? I prithee explain;

I'm out of all patience, do n't mock me again.

The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill,

Still made the same answer, and that, “Whip-poor-Will.”

Well, have your own way, then; but if you wo n't tell,

I'll shut down the window, and bid you farewell;

But of one thing be sure, I wo n't whip him until

You give me some reason for whipping poor Will.

I listened a moment, as if for reply,

But nothing was heard but the bird's mocking cry.

I caught the faint echo from valley and hill;

It breathed the same burden, that strange “Whip-poor-Will.”