A simple thing, yet chancing as it did,
When life was bright with its illusive dreams,
A pledge and promise seemed beneath it hid;
The ocean lay before me, tinged with beams,
That lingering draped the west, a wavering stir,
And at my feet there fell a worn, grey quill;
An eagle, high above the darkling fir,
With steady flight, seemed there to take his fill
Of that pure ether breathed by him alone.
O! noble bird! why didst thou loose for me
Thy eagle plume? still unessayed, unknown
Must -be that pathway fearless winged by thee;
I ask it not, no lofty flight is mine,
I would not soar like thee, in loneliness to pine!