The Tamed Eagle

He sat upon his humble perch, nor flew
As I came nigh;
But when I nearer drew
Looked, as I fancied, with reproachful eye
And sadly too.
And something spoke his native pride untamed
Despite his woe;
Which, when I marked — ashamed
To see a noble creature brought so low —
My heart exclaimed, —
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?
I grieve to see thy dauntless spirit tamed,
Gone out the light
That in thine eye-ball flamed,
When to the mid-day sun thy steady flight
Was proudly aimed!
Like a young dove forsaken is the look
Of thy sad eye,
Who in some lonely nook
Mourns on the willow bough her destiny
Beside the brook.
O, let me not insult thy fallen dignity,
Thou monarch bird,
Gazing with vulgar eye
Upon thy ruin; for my heart is stirred
To hear thy cry!
Yet something 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.