THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
301 
THE eagle's song. 
The rock is my dwelling, 
That beetles on high ; 
In the thunder, my yelling 
Resounds through the sky : — 
When the chase is severest, 
I urge on the pack : — 
When dangers are nearest 
I keep on my track. 
When the lightning is flashing 
Upon the last field. 
Where lately was crashing 
Of sabre and shield ; 
O'er the dead and the dying 
I flap my dark wing : — 
While the mountains replying 
Their death chorus sing. 
When the tempest is roaring. 
And sweeping the trees. 
Aloft I am soaring, 
And courting the breeze. 
D D 
