 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
LINES ADDRESSED TO AN EAGLE.
Proud mountain bird, emblem of mighty soul,
That spurnest human dust, and takest thy way
Like some Archangel, making heaven thy goal;
Thou hast a dwelling in eternal day,
Bearing a spirit's trust in breast of human clay.
That spurnest human dust, and takest thy way
Like some Archangel, making heaven thy goal;
Thou hast a dwelling in eternal day,
Bearing a spirit's trust in breast of human clay.
I have beheld upon the heaving deep,
Some winged vessel float along in glee;
I've seen the Arab steed in glory sweep—
Fast like a tempest—like a monarch free,—
But, joyous mountain bird, ne'er saw I aught like thee!
Some winged vessel float along in glee;
I've seen the Arab steed in glory sweep—
Fast like a tempest—like a monarch free,—
But, joyous mountain bird, ne'er saw I aught like thee!
Art thou of living fire—hast thou a breast
Volcanic, that dost dare that sovereign height?
Where the lone clouds of heaven alone may rest—
Where only the loud winds may take their flight—
Thou, heaven-hearted bird, hast dwelling and a right.
Volcanic, that dost dare that sovereign height?
Where the lone clouds of heaven alone may rest—
Where only the loud winds may take their flight—
Thou, heaven-hearted bird, hast dwelling and a right.
114
Thine eye-balls gaze upon the noon-tide sun,
The dim eternal stars are part of thee,
Untrodden depths of ether thou hast won,
And through the concave swept uncurb'd and free,
And won the azure deep for home and liberty.
The dim eternal stars are part of thee,
Untrodden depths of ether thou hast won,
And through the concave swept uncurb'd and free,
And won the azure deep for home and liberty.
Ay, let leviathan in ocean swim,
Let the fierce forest monarch dwell alone,
Thou art with troops of winged seraphim
And midst the storms and tempests hast thy throne,
Bearing o'er human hearts a high and kingly tone.
Let the fierce forest monarch dwell alone,
Thou art with troops of winged seraphim
And midst the storms and tempests hast thy throne,
Bearing o'er human hearts a high and kingly tone.
The Summer breezes touch thy flowing wing,
Ruffle the feathers on thy swelling breast;
Summer's ethereal tones of music ring
Within thy heart, and lull thee into rest,
And thou hast dwelling there, within its bowers thy nest.
Ruffle the feathers on thy swelling breast;
Summer's ethereal tones of music ring
Within thy heart, and lull thee into rest,
And thou hast dwelling there, within its bowers thy nest.
Thou gazest from thine eyrie on the sky,
On woods that wave in Summer's robes of green,
The loveliest vales delight thine eager eye,
Fair bloom the landscapes—quiet and serene—
And the deep heaving sea rolls in the moonlight sheen.
On woods that wave in Summer's robes of green,
The loveliest vales delight thine eager eye,
Fair bloom the landscapes—quiet and serene—
And the deep heaving sea rolls in the moonlight sheen.
Where gentle youth and maid at evening roam,
Breathing sweet love-tales to the enamoured air;
Where peace and truth and beauty have their home,
In pure content 'mid dwellings calm and fair,
Thou, from thy paths on high, behold'st them ling'ring there.
Breathing sweet love-tales to the enamoured air;
Where peace and truth and beauty have their home,
In pure content 'mid dwellings calm and fair,
Thou, from thy paths on high, behold'st them ling'ring there.
115
The wroth of giant cities harms thee not,
Nor care, nor agony, disturbs thy breast,
For thou amid the clouds, in some lone spot
Of everlasting beauty, hast thy rest,
By sorrow never harm'd, by human woe opprest!
Nor care, nor agony, disturbs thy breast,
For thou amid the clouds, in some lone spot
Of everlasting beauty, hast thy rest,
By sorrow never harm'd, by human woe opprest!
Glad be thy dwelling-place: afar, afar,
Still hold thy flight and shun the curse below;
Soar thou aloft beneath the evening star
Nor bow thy regal head to worldly woe,
But through the realms of air, in power and triumph go.
Still hold thy flight and shun the curse below;
Soar thou aloft beneath the evening star
Nor bow thy regal head to worldly woe,
But through the realms of air, in power and triumph go.
Still be thy temple, nigh the setting sun,
Fann'd by the evening breezes, in the light
Of joy and splendour, when the day is done:
This is no land for thee, but, pure and bright,
Walk thou the heavenly Isles, in splendour and delight!
Fann'd by the evening breezes, in the light
Of joy and splendour, when the day is done:
This is no land for thee, but, pure and bright,
Walk thou the heavenly Isles, in splendour and delight!
| The bard, and minor poems | |