To the Eagle

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To the Eagle

Fain would I rival thee

Monarch of birds

Soaring so loftily

Up to the clouds!

Spreading thy pinions

And mounting on air,

Ethereally floating

Divinely and fair.

Where is thy resting place?

Where dost thou dwell?

Is the mountain thy home

Or the stern rock thy cell?

Dost thou live in the desert?

Is the forest thy lair?

O, where is thy resting place?

Eagle, say where?

Always tending upward

May this be my aim;

Ne’er swerving from duty

Or shrinking from pain.

’Tis thus would I rival thee

Monarch of birds,

When soaring loftily

Up to the clouds.