The old eagles crowd them from the nest;
Down they flutter till their plumes have gathered
Strength to lift them to the granite crest
Of the hills their eldest sires possessed.
When the one cub of the lordly lions
Strikes the earth and shakes his bristling mane,
Forth they lash him, though he growl defiance,
O'er the sand-waste to pursue his gain,—
Shaggy Nimrod of the desert plain!
Still the eagles watch out from the eyrie