He was by every one respected,
And more it needs not saying here.
Within an outfield stood an only
Old beech-tree, lightning-smote, and dead,—
Its branches bare, and bleached, and lonely,
An eagle built its nest amid.
Forsook the mountain's summit hoary,
The beetling cliff above the sea,
Sought not the forests of Missouri,
But sheltered on this shattered tree.