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THE FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 
TO WALT WHITMAN 
“ T, thirty-six years old, in perfect health, begin, 
Hoping to cease not till death.” 
CHANTS DEMOCRATXC: 
They say that thou art sick, art growing old, 
Thou Poet of unconquerable health, 
With youth far-stretching, through the golden wealth 
Of autumn, to Death’s frostful, friendly cold. 
The never-blenching eyes, that did behold 
Life’s fair and foul, with measureless content, 
And gaze ne’er sated, saddened as they bent 
Over the dying soldier in the fold 
Of thy large comrade love; — then broke the tear! 
War-dream, field-vigil, the bequeathed kiss, 
Have brought old age to thee; yet, Master, now, 
Cease not thy song to us; lest we should miss 
A death-chant of indomitable cheer, 
Blown as a gale from God; — oh sing it thou! 
ARRAN LEIGH (England). 
I 
No has witnessed the flight of any of 
the great birds, as the eagle, the condor, the 
sea-gulls, the proud hawks, etc., has perhaps felt 
that the poetic suggestion of the feathered tribes is 
not all confined to the sweet and tiny songsters, — 
the thrushes, canaries, and mockingbirds of the 
