Song of the Eagle

I'm the child of light, yet the darkest nightNo 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 crestOf 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 snowHas crested the mountain's brow,And laugh at the storm, and the blackened formOf 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.Not so proud a one ever gazed on the sunAs the eagle bird, I trow,Stooping to rest on the towering crestOf the highest mountain's brow.

In the pride of a king, with folded wing,I gaze on ruined Tyre;By Heaven's decree it was given to me,And no power to give is higher.From land or sea God hath chosen me,And a favored bird am I—The gifted of Heaven, to whom power is givenOver earth, and sea, and sky.

I care not for earth, though I had my birthOn the proudest height she owns;And I'd rather ride o'er old ocean's tideThan sit on her rocky thrones.But I love the sun, and could I have wonA home in its realms of light,With a laugh of scorn from this earth I'd turn,And soar to my home in delight.