Regularly at half-past seven， in one part of the summer， after the evening train had gone by， the whip-poor-wills chanted their vespers for half an hour， sitting on a stump by my door， or upon the ridge-pole of the house.  They would begin to sing almost with as much precision as a clock， within five minutes of a particular time，referred to the setting of the sun， every evening.  I had a rare opportunity to become acquainted with their habits.  Sometimes I heard four or five at once in different parts of the wood， by accident one a bar behind another， and so near me that I distinguished not only the cluck after each note， but often that singular buzzing sound like a fly in a spider's web， only proportionally louder.  Sometimes one would circle round and round me in the woods a few feet distant as if tethered by a string， when probably I was near its eggs.  They sang at intervals throughout the night， and were again as musical as ever just before and about dawn.

　　When other birds are still， the screech owls take up the strain，like mourning women their ancient u-lu-lu.  Their dismal scream is truly Ben Jonsonian.  Wise midnight hags！  It is no honest and blunt tu-whit tu-who of the poets， but， without jesting， a most solemn graveyard ditty， the mutual consolations of suicide lovers remembering the pangs and the delights of supernal love in the infernal groves.  Yet I love to hear their wailing， their doleful responses， trilled along the woodside； reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds； as if it were the dark and tearful side of music， the regrets and sighs that would fain be sung.  They are the spirits， the low spirits and melancholy forebodings， of fallen souls that once in human shape night-walked the earth and did the deeds of darkness， now expiating their sins with their wailing hymns or threnodies in the scenery of their transgressions.  They give me a new sense of the variety and capacity of that nature which is our common dwelling.  Oh-o-o-o-o that I never had been bor-r-r-r-n！

　　sighs one on this side of the pond， and circles with the restlessness of despair to some new perch on the gray oaks.  Then ――that I never had been bor-r-r-r-n！ echoes another on the farther side with tremulous sincerity， and ―― bor-r-r-r-n！ comes faintly from far in the Lincoln woods.

　　I was also serenaded by a hooting owl.  Near at hand you could fancy it the most melancholy sound in Nature， as if she meant by this to stereotype and make permanent in her choir the dying moans of a human being ―― some poor weak relic of mortality who has left hope behind， and howls like an animal， yet with human sobs， on entering the dark valley， made more awful by a certain gurgling melodiousness ―― I find myself beginning with the letters gl when I try to imitate it ―― expressive of a mind which has reached the gelatinous， mildewy stage in the mortification of all healthy and courageous thought.  It reminded me of ghouls and idiots and insane howlings.  But now one answers from far woods in a strain made really melodious by distance ―― Hoo hoo hoo， hoorer hoo； and indeed for the most part it suggested only pleasing associations， whether heard by day or night， summer or winter.

　　很準時，在夏天的某一部分日子里，七點半，夜車經過以后，夜鷹要唱半個小時晚禱曲，就站在我門前的樹樁上，或站在屋脊梁木上。準確得跟時鐘一樣，每天晚上，日落以后，一個特定時間的五分鐘之內，它們一定開始歌唱。真是機會難得，我摸清了它們的習慣了。有時，我聽到四五只，在林中的不同地點唱起來，音調的先后偶然地相差一小節，它們跟我實在靠近，我還聽得到每個音后面的咂舌之聲，時常還聽到一種獨特的嗡嗡的聲音，像一只蒼蠅投入了蜘蛛網，只是那聲音較響。有時，一只夜鷹在林中，距離我的周遭只有幾英尺，盤旋不已，飛，飛，好像有繩子牽住了它們一樣，也許因為我在它們的鳥卵近旁。整夜它們不時地唱，而在黎明前，以及黎明將近時唱得尤其富于樂感。

　　別的鳥雀靜下來時，叫梟接了上去，像哀悼的婦人，叫出自古以來的“嗚――嚕――嚕”這種悲哀的叫聲，頗有班。瓊生的詩風。夜半的智慧的女巫！這并不像一些詩人所唱的“啾――微”，“啾――胡”那么真實、呆板；不是開玩笑，它卻是墓地里的哀歌，像一對自殺的情人在地獄的山林中，想起了生時戀愛的苦痛與喜悅，便互相安慰著一樣。然而，我愛聽它們的悲悼、陰慘的呼應，沿著樹林旁邊的顫聲歌唱；使我時而想到音樂和鳴禽；仿佛甘心地唱盡音樂的嗚咽含淚，哀傷嘆息。它們是一個墮落靈魂的化身，陰郁的精神，憂愁的預兆，它們曾經有人類的形態，夜夜在大地上走動，干著黑暗的勾當，而現在在罪惡的場景中，它們悲歌著祈求贖罪。它們使我新鮮地感覺到，我們的共同住處，大自然真是變化莫測，而又能量很大。嘔―呵――呵――呵――呵――我要從沒――沒――沒――生――嗯！湖的這一邊，一只夜鷹這樣嘆息，在焦灼的的失望中盤旋著，最后停落在另一棵灰黑色的橡樹上，于是――我要從沒――沒――沒――生――嗯！較遠的那一邊另一只夜鷹顫抖地，忠誠地回答，而且，遠遠地從林肯的樹林中，傳來了一個微弱的應聲――從沒――沒一一一沒――生――嗯！

　　還有一只叫個不停的貓頭鷹也向我唱起小夜曲來，在近處聽，你可能覺得，這是大自然中最最悲慘的聲音，好像它要用這種聲音來凝聚人類臨終的呻吟，永遠將它保留在它的歌曲之中一樣，――那呻吟是人類的可憐的脆弱的殘息，他把希望留在后面，在進入冥府的人口處時，像動物一樣嗥叫，卻還含著人的啜泣聲，由于某種很美的“格爾格爾”的聲音，它聽來尤其可怕――我發現我要模擬那聲音時，我自己已經開始念出“格爾”這兩個字了，――它充分表現出一個冷凝中的腐蝕的心靈狀態，一切健康和勇敢的思想全都給破壞了。這使我想起了掘墓的惡鬼，白癡和狂人的嚎叫?？墒乾F在有了一個應聲，從遠處的樹木中傳來，因為遠，倒真正優美，霍――霍――霍，霍瑞霍；這中間大部分所暗示的真是只有愉快的聯想，不管你聽到時是在白天或黑夜，在夏季或冬季。

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