 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
THE TAMED EAGLE.
He sat upon his humble perch, nor flew
At my approach;
But as I nearer drew,
Looked on me, as I fancied, with reproach,
And sadness too:
At my approach;
But as I nearer drew,
Looked on me, as I fancied, with reproach,
And sadness too:
And something still his native pride proclaim'd,
Despite his wo;
Which, when I marked,—ashamed
To see a noble creature brought so low,
My heart exclaim'd,
Despite his wo;
Which, when I marked,—ashamed
To see a noble creature brought so low,
My heart exclaim'd,
363
Where is the fire that lit thy fearless eye,
Child of the storm,
When from thy home on high,
Yon craggy-breasted rock, I saw thy form
Cleaving the sky?
Child of the storm,
When from thy home on high,
Yon craggy-breasted rock, I saw thy form
Cleaving the sky?
It grieveth me to see thy spirit tamed;
Gone out the light
That in thine eye-ball flamed,
When to the midday sun thy steady flight
Was proudly aimed!
Gone out the light
That in thine eye-ball flamed,
When to the midday sun thy steady flight
Was proudly aimed!
Like the young dove forsaken, is the look
Of thy sad eye,
Who in some lonely nook,
Mourneth upon the willow bough her destiny,
Beside the brook.
Of thy sad eye,
Who in some lonely nook,
Mourneth upon the willow bough her destiny,
Beside the brook.
While somewhat sterner in thy downward gaze
Doth seem to lower,
And deep disdain betrays,
As if thou cursed man's poorly acted power,
And scorned his praise.
Doth seem to lower,
And deep disdain betrays,
As if thou cursed man's poorly acted power,
And scorned his praise.
Oh, let not me insult thy fallen dignity,
Poor injured bird,
Gazing with vulgar eye
Upon thy ruin;—for my heart is stirr'd
To hear thy cry;
Poor injured bird,
Gazing with vulgar eye
Upon thy ruin;—for my heart is stirr'd
To hear thy cry;
And answereth to thee, as I turn to go,
It is a stain
On man!—Thus, even thus low
Be brought the wretch, who could for sordid gain,
Work thee such wo!
It is a stain
On man!—Thus, even thus low
Be brought the wretch, who could for sordid gain,
Work thee such wo!
| Specimens of American poetry | |