 | Poems of home and travel |  |
151
THE EAGLE HUNTER.
Storm and rain are on the mountains,
And the falling torrents thunder,
And the black and driving shadows
Make a night along the plain:
Now the herds are grouped for shelter,
And the herdsmen wind their lassos,
Towards the distant hacienda
Speeding homeward through the rain.
And the falling torrents thunder,
And the black and driving shadows
Make a night along the plain:
Now the herds are grouped for shelter,
And the herdsmen wind their lassos,
Towards the distant hacienda
Speeding homeward through the rain.
From the icy Cordilleras
Crashing leap the avalanches,
By the hands of mining waters
Loosened from their lofty hold;
And the mountain sheep are scattered
By the firs and larches falling,
And the wild wolves howling gather
In the caverns dark and cold.
Crashing leap the avalanches,
By the hands of mining waters
Loosened from their lofty hold;
And the mountain sheep are scattered
By the firs and larches falling,
And the wild wolves howling gather
In the caverns dark and cold.
152
On the lofty summit, beaten
By the wintry sleet, I wander,
For I seek the monarch eagle
In his eyrie of the rock;
And I shout in exultation,
When his gray wing on the darkness
Of the cloud above me flashes,
Wheeling downward to the shock!
By the wintry sleet, I wander,
For I seek the monarch eagle
In his eyrie of the rock;
And I shout in exultation,
When his gray wing on the darkness
Of the cloud above me flashes,
Wheeling downward to the shock!
From his wing I rob the plumage,
And it crowns me like a chieftain;
At my belt his talons rattle,
Like the scales of olden mail:
Never win the the Yuma hunters
Such a trophy on their deserts,
Or the fiery-eyed Apache
In the Colorado's vale!
And it crowns me like a chieftain;
At my belt his talons rattle,
Like the scales of olden mail:
Never win the the Yuma hunters
Such a trophy on their deserts,
Or the fiery-eyed Apache
In the Colorado's vale!
I pursue a nobler quarry,
And my home is far above them,
Where the cradles of the rivers
Have been hollowed in the snow.
And I drink their crystal sources,
Where the Bravo and the Gila
To their thousand miles of travel
Plunging down the cañons go!
And my home is far above them,
Where the cradles of the rivers
Have been hollowed in the snow.
And I drink their crystal sources,
Where the Bravo and the Gila
To their thousand miles of travel
Plunging down the cañons go!
153
In the meeting of the thunders,
When the solid crags are shivered,
Firm and fearless and rejoicing
On the lonely peaks I stand;
For my foot has learned the fleetness
Of the ibex on the ridges,
And my voice the stormy music
Of the mighty Mountain Land.
When the solid crags are shivered,
Firm and fearless and rejoicing
On the lonely peaks I stand;
For my foot has learned the fleetness
Of the ibex on the ridges,
And my voice the stormy music
Of the mighty Mountain Land.
| Poems of home and travel | |