X 



THE FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 



TO WALT WHITMAN 



" /, thirty-six years old, in perfect health, begin, 

 Hoping to cease not till death." 



Chants Demockatic. 



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! 



Abban Leigh (England). 



WHOEVER has witnessed the flight of any of 

 the great biids, 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 



