The Eagle and the Flower.
The eyrie clung to the shattered cliff
That the glacier’s torrent thundered under;
And the unfledged eaglet’s lifted eye
Looked out on the world of peak and sky
In silent wonder.
The mountain daisy, dainty white,
That grew by the side of the lofty eyrie,
Saw the young wings beat on the eagle’s breast,
And the restless eyes in the fagot-nest
Grow grim and fiery.
The days went by and the wings grew strong,
And the crag-built home was at last deserted;
But, close to the nest that her love had left,
The daisy clung to the rocky cleft,
The days went by and the wan, white flower
Waited and watched in the autumn weather;
Far down the valley, far up the height,
The forest blazed, and a wizard light
Crowned hill and heather.
And he came at last one eventide,
His breast was pierced and his plumes were gory;
For home is best when we come to die,
And we love the love that our youth puts by,–
And there’s my story.
–Charles Hamilton Musgrove