On a lone crag, where Storm's wild children nest
Mid glacier's ice and vast, unmelting snows,
The lordly Eagle stands, while Morning throws
Her spears of golden light against his breast.
Deep stirs within him an unwonted zest,
And as the verdurous vale's serene repose
Alluring spreads, in scorn of waiting foes
He downward sweeps in majesty confessed.
But scarce his wings were folded from their flight,
When man's disloyal rifle smote the air,
And limp he fell in death's unending night;--
And when the hours had drearily dragged on,
His mate, in desolation's dumb despair,
Gazed at the vale rewakening to the dawn.