54 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 



to kill — no matter whether it be a golden eagle, a lion, a 



Caesar, an Alexander, or a Bonaparte. As Shakespeare says in 



"Cymbeline"— 



" Last night the very gods shew'd me a vision, 

 I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 

 From the spongy south to this part of the west, 

 Then vanish'd in the sunbeams ; which portend 

 (Unless my sins abuse my divination) 

 Success to the Roman host." 



He also says in the same Play — 



" The Roman eagle, 

 From south to west, on wing soaring aloft 

 Lessened herself, and, in the beams o' the sun 

 So vanish'd ; which foreshow'd our princely eagle, 

 The imperial Caesar, should again unite 

 His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 

 Which shines here in the west." 



To illustrate this still more, Byron, speaking of Waterloo, says — 



" And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, 

 The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! 

 How, in an hour, the power which gave annuls 

 Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ; 

 In pride of place here last the eagle flew, 

 Then tore, with bloody talon, the rent plain ! 

 Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through." 



But, although a life-ravaging marauder, he is not a cruel one 



— in the same sense that the cat is cruel — which, after catching 



the wee timorous mousie will let it away again and again, for no 



other purpose than to gratify her savage sport, until the little 



sufferer, so tortured by claws and teeth, only dies when its 



tormentor is tired of her cruel pastime. On the contrary, the 



golden eagle kills at once, and never gloats over death nor 



destroys more life than necessary to appease his own or his 



offspring's wants. Fierce, active, and daring in the execution of 



his royal mission, his conscience is free and light as the mountain 



air through which he cleaves — he gets his license and commission 



to kill direct from Nature ; but, unlike Cain, he is a murderer 



from the beginning — as free from envy as from the qualms of 



conscience. Conscience, which makes cowards of all men, makes 



no coward of him. By the special order of Nature, mercy and 



pity, like cruelty and envy, have no place in his disposition. 



There is no humbug — no Macbeth-like fear or Hamlet-like 



hesitation with him in murder ; like the ancient human Gael, 



lawless to all but his own clan, 



" For why ? — because the good old rule 

 Sufficeth them, the simple plan 

 That they should take who have the power, 

 And they should keep who can." 



