ON THE SWOOP.
Far from its native eyrie, high in air,
Above the extended plain,
The Teuton Eagle hovers. Broad and fair
From Tropic main to main
Stretches a virgin continent vast, and void
Of man's most treasured works;
No plough on those huge slopes is yet employed;
The untamed tiger lurks
In unfelled forest and unfooted brake;
Those streams scarce know a keel;
Through the rank herbage writhes the monstrous snake;
Dim shapes of terror steal
Unmarked and menacing from clump to clump,
Whilst from the tangled scrub
Is heard the trampling elephant's angry trump.
The frolic tiger-cub
Tumbles in jungle-shambles; in his lair
The lion couches prone.
What does that wingéd portent in mid-air,
Hovering alert, alone?
Strong-pinioned, brazen-beaked, and iron-clawed,
This Eagle from the West;
Adventurous, ravening for prey, unawed
By perils of the quest.
Beneath new clouds, above fresh fields he flies,
Foraging fleet and far,
With clutching talons, and with hungering eyes,
Scornful of bound or bar.
Winged things, he deems, may safely oversweep
Landmark and mountain-post.
The Forest-king may fancy he can keep
His realm against a host
Of such aërial harpies. Be it proved!
Till late the Imperial fowl
Not far from its home-pinnacles hath roved;
Now Leo on the prowl
Must watch his wingèd rival. Who may tell
Where it shall strike or stoop?
Leo, your lair must now be warded well;
Aquila's on the Swoop!