 | Songs in many keys |  |
I.
Amongst the birds, I hear none can compare
As critic with the Owl, although I ween
Cross-grained he is, and often full of spleen,
And hooting drives the songsters to despair,—
He gives himself, too, many a jaunty air.
The Lark he rated soundly that the dale
He filled not sweetly as the Nightingale;
The Robin once was asked how he did dare
As critic with the Owl, although I ween
Cross-grained he is, and often full of spleen,
And hooting drives the songsters to despair,—
He gives himself, too, many a jaunty air.
The Lark he rated soundly that the dale
He filled not sweetly as the Nightingale;
The Robin once was asked how he did dare
To lift his voice, since he was not a Thrush;
And the poor Wren, because he sings so small,
Was bidden to keep silence in the bush;
The Greenfinch was sent rudely to the wall.
O sapient Owl! to Nature lend an ear,
All songsters, great and small, to her are dear.
And the poor Wren, because he sings so small,
Was bidden to keep silence in the bush;
The Greenfinch was sent rudely to the wall.
O sapient Owl! to Nature lend an ear,
All songsters, great and small, to her are dear.
| Songs in many keys | |