O’er its young brood, as yet untaught to soar;
And while, all trembling at the whirlwind’s roar,
Each humbler bird shrinks cowering in its nest,
Beneath that wing of power, and ample breast,
They sleep unheeding; while the storm on high
Breaks not their calm and proud security.
In the second canto, Basville enters Paris with his angelic guide, at the moment preceding the execution of Louis XVI.
The air was heavy, and the brooding skies
Look’d fraught with omens, as to harmonise
With his pale aspect. Through the forest round