And through the wilderness of Air’s dominions
Arose in quest of prey,
When, lo! the forest-ranger’s musquet roared,
And struck him as he soared,
Shattering the tendons of one buoyant wing,
And down to earth he fell, poor wounded thing!
Deep in the hollow of a grassy grove,
Where sleepy myrtles bloomed, and dark boughs wove
A trellis-curtain to shut out the sun,
He lay for three long days, with none