The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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On seeing an Eagle pass near me in Autumn Twilight.—G. Mellen.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
On seeing an Eagle pass near me in Autumn Twilight.—G. Mellen.
Sail on, thou lone imperial bird,
Of quenchless eye and tireless wing;
How is thy distant coming heard
As the night's breezes round thee ring!
Thy course was 'gainst the burning sun
In his extremest glory! How!
Is thy unequalled daring done,
Thou stoop'st to earth so lowly now?
Of quenchless eye and tireless wing;
How is thy distant coming heard
As the night's breezes round thee ring!
Thy course was 'gainst the burning sun
In his extremest glory! How!
Is thy unequalled daring done,
Thou stoop'st to earth so lowly now?
Or hast thou left thy rocking dome,
Thy roaring crag, thy lightning pine,
To find some secret, meaner home,
Less stormy and unsafe than thine?
Else why thy dusky pinions bend
So closely to this shadowy world,
And round thy scorching glances send,
As wishing thy broad pens were furled?
Thy roaring crag, thy lightning pine,
To find some secret, meaner home,
Less stormy and unsafe than thine?
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So closely to this shadowy world,
And round thy scorching glances send,
As wishing thy broad pens were furled?
Yet lonely is thy shattered nest,
Thy eyry desolate, though high;
And lonely thou, alike, at rest,
Or soaring in thy upper sky.
The golden light that bathes thy plumes,
On thine interminable flight,
Falls cheerless on earth's desert tombs,
And makes the North's ice-mountains bright.
Thy eyry desolate, though high;
And lonely thou, alike, at rest,
Or soaring in thy upper sky.
The golden light that bathes thy plumes,
On thine interminable flight,
Falls cheerless on earth's desert tombs,
And makes the North's ice-mountains bright.
So come the eagle-hearted down,
So come the proud and high to earth,
When life's night-gathering tempests frown
Over their glory and their mirth;
So quails the mind's undying eye,
That bore unveiled fame's noontide sun;
So man seeks solitude, to die,
His high place left, his triumphs done.
So come the proud and high to earth,
When life's night-gathering tempests frown
Over their glory and their mirth;
So quails the mind's undying eye,
That bore unveiled fame's noontide sun;
So man seeks solitude, to die,
His high place left, his triumphs done.
So, round the residence of power,
A cold and joyless lustre shines,
And on life's pinnacles will lower
Clouds dark as bathe the eagle's pines
But O, the mellow light that pours
From God's pure throne—the light that saves!
It warms the spirit as it soars,
And sheds deep radiance round our graves.
A cold and joyless lustre shines,
And on life's pinnacles will lower
Clouds dark as bathe the eagle's pines
But O, the mellow light that pours
From God's pure throne—the light that saves!
It warms the spirit as it soars,
And sheds deep radiance round our graves.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |