In the clefts of the rocks my wild dwelling I form,
I sail through the air on the wings of the storm,
'Mid dangers and combats I dart on my prey,
And trust the bold pinion that bears me away!
THE SWAN.
Won by the charm of Phœbus, in the wave
Of heavenly harmony I dare to lave,
Couched at his feet, I listen to the lays,
In Tempè's vale, that echo to his praise!
THE EAGLE.
I perch at the right hand of Jove on his throne,
And the thunderbolt launch when his signal is shown,
And my heavy wings droop, when in slumber I lie,
O'er the sceptre that sways the wide earth from on high!
THE SWAN.
Me charms the heaven's blue arch, serene and bland,
And odorous flowers attract me to the land
While basking in the sun's departing beams,
I stretch my white wings o'er the purpled streams!
THE EAGLE.
I exult in the tempest, triumphant and bold,
When the oaks of the forest it rends from their hold,
I demand of the thunder—the spheres when it shakes—
If, like me, a wild joy in destruction it takes!
THE SWAN.