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, don'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, don'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, don'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 won't tell,     I'll shut down the window, and bid you farewell;     But of one thing be sure, I won'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."