University of Virginia Library

There was nothing in the pantry, no, absolutely nothing!
With a pair of saucer eyes,
The horned Owl look'd wise;
With a fussing and a fluttering,
And a sort of solemn muttering,
She fidgeted and shifted,
And poked and pried and lifted,
But alas! to her confusion,
She was forced to that conclusion,
There was nothing in the pantry, no, absolutely nothing!

'Twas an August day, if I remember rightly,
No cloud in the sky, the morning sun shone brightly.
The puzzled Owl look'd slyly out, and, winking,
Shrank back again and fell anew to thinking.
She pucker'd up her plumes and made a pother—
She stood on one leg, and then tried the other.
On her starved brood, anon, her glance would fall;
Quite out of countenance she stared them all.
And then her saucer eyes she took to closing,
So that you might have deem'd her calmly dozing;
But all was vain—still, to her dire confusion,
She came to that inflexible conclusion,
There was nothing in the pantry, no, absolutely nothing!

She paused no longer, but, with desperate courage,
Prepared at once to sally forth and forage;
So she put on her very closest bonnet,
With a thick sort of feathery veil upon it,
And would have taken her parasol, no doubt,
If Owls had found that useful fashion out.
Right down the glade she flew, and, who should meet her,
But Captain Hawk, who stopp'd, of course, to greet her—
“What you, Ma'am, you!—Why, sure my eyes deceive me!
Dame Owl abroad by daylight!—Who'd believe me,
If I avouch'd such miracle?”—“Alas! Sir,”
The Owl replied, “'twas thus it came to pass, Sir.
Last night, we had a little quiet party—
Just two or three near neighbours, hale and hearty,
And hungry too, for they quite clear'd our shelves, Sir,
And left us, really, nothing for ourselves, Sir.
I've four dear children—such a charming brood!
And since that time they have not tasted food—
So forth I've sallied, and may pitying Fate
A prey provide and send me back elate!
But, by the by, which way, Sir, are you going?
Straight up the glade? In that case, you'd be showing
A doting mother the most touching favour,
If you'd just give an eye to the behaviour
Of my sweet offspring.”—In his shrillest tone
The Hawk said, “Ma'am, I'll treat them as my own;
But to prevent mistakes, which I dislike,
Pray give me a slight sketch of what they're like.”
“Oh! Sir,” the Owl said, with a funny wriggle,
“That's needless, quite,”—and she began to giggle—
“They're my own darlings, and you can't mistake them;
In fact, their loveliness alone, would make them
Known at first sight to eyes so very keen;—
Four handsomer birds than mine were never seen—
And such sweet voices! If you chance to hear them,
You'll own no lark nor bullfinch can come near them.”
“Indeed! why then I've nothing more to say, Ma'am,”
Observed the Hawk—“I wish you luck!—Good day, Ma'am.”
The Owl flew on, relieved of half her fears,
By hopes of safety for her little dears.
The Hawk swept up the glade in search of quarry,
A pair of seven-leagued boots he seemed to carry,
He flew so fast. Just opposite the oak,
Where lodged the Owl, he heard a kind of croak,
Or four croaks, rather;—in his life, he ne'er
Had heard a sound he could at all compare
With that, for harshness. Fingers he had none,
Or he'd have stuff'd them in his ears to shun
The horrid discord. “Ten to one,” said he,
“They're toads, or hedgehogs—I'll look in and see.”
He thrust his neck into the hole, and saw
A sight that struck him with a sudden awe.
For the first time he winced, and stared aghast—
And “Well, I never!” he shriek'd out at last.
There lay the Owlets, dirty, bare, and yellow,
Each with his mouth wide-stretch'd, poor hungry fellow!
With saucer eyes, and voice for ever croaking
So dismally, the sound was quite provoking.
Such ugly bantlings, I suppose, were never
Seen anywhere:—no wonder that a shiver
Crept o'er the hawk. “I'd give my head,” said he,
“To know what these vile, nasty things can be!
Not birds, that's certain, and—what's just as clear,
They can't be wholesome food for me, I fear;
They don't smell nice. Just look, now, there's beauty!
He's worse than any. Come, I'll do my duty,
And wring his neck.” Thereat, with cruel smother,
Up went the Owlet, then up went another.
Up went all four:—a little shake a-piece
Was all he gave them—may they rest in peace!
Then off the Hawk flew, after that good action,
With a calm sense of inner satisfaction.
“Tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhit!”—again, “tuwhit!”—
Which meant the Owl was coming home with meat,
And quite in spirits. Oh! the dark reversal
Of that sweet scene, for which she made rehearsal!
“‘What! all my little ones, at one fell swoop!
What! all my pretty chickens!’” —a wild whoop
Burst from her—such a ghostly sound and scary!—
(By the way, you see the Owl is literary)—
When she look'd on them;—there they lay, pell-mell,
In a dark corner, and what tongue can tell
Their mother's grief and shame, when, peering round,
A grey hawk's feather in the nest she found!
“Fool that I was!”—and here she crush'd her bonnet,
And the thick sort of feathery veil upon it—
“To cheat the Captain with a pack of lies!
I might have known he'd judge with his own eyes,
And not be gull'd by my conceit and pride.
Well, truth's the best thing—that can't be denied—
Henceforth I'll tell it, let what will ensue;”
And here she sobb'd—“Tuwhoo, tuwhoo, tuwhoo.”