Hath linked theirs in blest unison, and made
Life seem a fairy-land of light and love.
But they are gone! I now no longer see
The tracery of their footsteps; but I go
Still dreaming on; and I will have a world
Of beautiful images; and some, perhaps,
Sad, sad ones, too; but these will make the heart
More grateful for its joys, and give a shade
To the too brilliant coloring of its dreams.
SONG OF THE EAGLE.
I'm the child of light, yet the darkest night
No terrors hath for me,
For the storm I ride, in a monarch's pride,
Or skim o'er the heaving sea.
When lowering clouds, like sable shrouds,
Wrap the earth in deepest gloom,
I join the surge in the funeral dirge,
O'er the sailor's watery tomb.
And I love to rest on the summit crest
Of the proudest mountain's height,
While the clouds below lie like wreaths of snow,
Yielding homage to my might.
In my pride I go where eternal snow
Has crested the mountain's brow,
And laugh at the storm, and the blackened form
Of the threatening clouds below.
Mid the lightning's flash, and the thunder's crash,
I scream for my own delight,
For I love to hear, so loud and clear,
My voice ringing out in the night.
