Feather-Cat

    To-wit, to-wit, to-woo!
The Great Owl sings to you,
The great owl sings & flaps his wings,
    With a hoot-a-hoot, halloo!

O, a very queer fowl is that big owl
    With his wit a-wit to-woo,
And his long feather ears with which he hears
    His pretty miss owl sing “Who?”
        Great-eyed mouser
    And foe to the leather-bat,
Winged carouser by night, when his foes are
    Asleep, he’s abroad, – the big eared Feather-Cat.

O, the very queer things the old owl sings,
    When he goes to woo
Marm You, Miss Too, as the old Widow Who;
He will call on all, but it seems too true
That Echo his valet but brings their ado!
And he blubbers at that, “Boo-hoo boo-hoo!”
    “Boo-oo-oo-oo-hoo!”

Only look at his eyes, how solemn & wise;
    ‘Tis Professor Grimace of the great glum College.
“Who? who?” he in quires, & he waits our replies;
    “Who is so tremendous in wonderful knowledge?”
    What a pattern of thinking; what winking & blinking,
As grave us if fate with his eye-lids were sinking.
    And who would suppose by the crook of his nose,
    And his solemn old goggles without any bows,
        Just like his “two-OOs,”
That he thought more of mold-warps under the turf, or
Mice in the meadows, that e’er of Minerva?
    “Who, who? to-wit, I’d like to know who
    To-owe, to hit, or to-woo?”

O, the very queer things the old owl brings
    To his baby owls in the tree!
He swings his wings, & the swamp wood rings
    With his hoot of dolorous glee!!
    “To-hoot-to-hoot, to-woo!
Here’s a little more sup for you”
And his pretty little owlets, one, two, three,
Open their mouths & shup up their eyes,
To swallow their supper of little meat pies,
Made without crust, of moles & mice,
With bugs & flies for pepper & spice!
Then he rocks them asleep on the old oak tree,
The queer bird singing his dolorous glee
“To-whit, to-who, to-hoot, halloo!
    To wit, to wit, to woo-o-o-o-o!”