Lo! where thou comest from the realms afar! Thy strong wings whir like some huge bellows' breath-- Swift falls thy fiery eyeball, like a star, And dark thy shadow as the pall of death! But thou hast marked a tall and reverend tree, And now thy talons clinch yon leafless limb; Before thee stretch the sandy shore and sea, And sails, like ghosts, move in the distance dim. Fair is the scene! Yet thy voracious eye Drinks not its beauty; but with bloody glare Watches the wild-fowl idly floating by, Or snow-white sea-gull winnowing the air: Oh, pitiless is thine unerring beak! Quick, as the wings of thought, thy pinions fall-- Then bear their victim to the mountain-peak Where clamorous eaglets flutter at thy call. Seaward again thou turn'st to chase the storm, Where winds and waters furiously roar! Above the doomed ship thy boding form Is coming Fate's dark shadow cast before! The billows that engulf man's sturdy frame As sport to thy careering pinions seem; And though to silence sinks the sailor's name, His end is told in thy relentless scream! Where the great cataract sends up to heaven Its sprayey incense in perpetual cloud, Thy wings in twain the sacred bow have riven, And onward sailed irreverently proud! Unflinching bird! No frigid clime congeals The fervid blood that riots in thy veins; No torrid sun thine upborne nature feels-- The North, the South, alike are thy domains. Emblem of all that can endure, or dare, Art thou, bold eagle, in thy hardihood! Emblem of Freedom, when thou cleav'st the air-- Emblem of Tyranny, when bathed in blood! Thou wert the genius of Rome's sanguine wars-- Heroes have fought and freely bled for thee; And here, above our glorious "stripes and stars," We hail thy signal wings of LIBERTY! The poet sees in thee a type sublime Of his far-reaching, high-aspiring Art! His fancy seeks with thee each starry clime, And thou art on the signet of his heart. Be _still_ the symbol of a spirit free, Imperial bird! to unborn ages given-- And to my soul, that it may soar like thee, Steadfastly looking in the eye of HEAVEN. _FIEL A LA MUERTE, OR TRUE LOVE'S DEVOTION. A TALE OF THE TIMES OF LOUIS QUINZE. BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE WYVIL," "CROMWELL," ETC._ (_Continued from page 12._) PART II.