And now, in golden splendors drest,
The new-born day is gladly breaking,
Oh! blissful be my lady's rest,
And sweet as Morn be her awaking.





THE EAGLE.


The winds sweep by him on his mountain throne,
Hurling the clouds together at his feet,
Till Earth is hidden, lost, and swallow'd up
As in the flood of waters,--and he sits
Eyeing the boundless firmament above,
Proud and unruffled, till his heart exclaims,--
"I am a god, Heaven is my home,--the Earth
Serveth me but for footstool."

The strong winds
Sweep on, and wide his pinions spreadeth he,--
"Bear me afar!" and on the mighty storm
He rides triumphant, spurning the dim Earth--
Whither, O whither goest thou? What star
Shall raise its mountains for thee? What far orb
Echo the fierceness of thy battle-cry?

What dost thou when the thunder is unloosed?