University of Virginia Library

THE WEST-POINT EAGLE.

SUGGESTED BY AN ACTUAL OCCURRENCE.

'T is Sabbath morning; o'er the tented field,
Wild mountain, rock, and grove, the silence broods
Which nature loves. On the far-spreading green,
The tread of martial feet is hushed, or light;
A serious grace chastens the soldier's eye.
The clustered tents stand in still sunshine, white
To the lone hill-top gazer, as the flocks
That wait the shepherd's call. The Hudson sleeps;
The sloop's trim sail flaps on her breezeless way,
And gentle ripples swell and die unheard.
In rugged quietness Fort Putnam's wall
Ascends; the Crow's Nest pillows the high clouds.
Ranges of nearer hills heave up to heaven
More fixed and clear, while to their wooded sides
Green shrubs reposing cling. A glittering light
Crowns Kosciusko's column, like his fame.
And listen, on the rocks below soft fall
Still waters, like the ceaseless beat the heart
Gives to it country's champions.
But behold,
From yonder height an eagle presses on!
Hither he bends, with pinions spread, and cuts
The azure sky; and now above the plain
He wheels, and now the rushing of his wing
Is heard careering o'er the silent tents.
Like a keen sentinel his quick eye darts
A glance around, then with majestic sweep
He cleaves the air, and o'er the mountain's crest
Fades his dark form.
Why com'st thou, noble bird?
To note if all is well with those who hail
Thee as their emblem?
Loyal youths! Cadets!
Look ye to this; slight not the sacred sign;
But when the eagle of your country comes,
Flapping his bold wing on your listening ear,
Still may he find you thus, as on this morn;
A Sabbath calmness resting on your souls,
And strength, unboasting, in each God-nerved arm.