Open flings the chamber portal, with a chill which stamps him mortal.
Can his senses be the sport all of his eyes! For there before
He sees an eagle perching on a bust of Janus at the door:
A bleeding bird, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, not in fear, but only fearing
Adrien’s vulgar indiscretions, Marx[2] of eaves-dropping in store:
“Though thy wings are torn and bleeding,” said he, with a voice of pleading:
“Thou’rt a bird of royal breeding: thou hast flown from foreign shore.”
Quoth the Eagle, “Matamore.”
Started with the stillness broken, by reply so aptly spoken,