Thus he sat, nor word did utter, till there came a sudden flutter, And the sound of beating wings was heard upon the carvéd door. In a trice the bolts were broken; by those lips no word was spoken, As an Eagle, torn and bloody, dim of eye, and wounded sore, Fluttered down upon the map, and trailed a wing all wet with gore O'er the name of BALTIMORE! Then that noble form uprising, with a gesture of surprising, Bent with look of keenest sorrow tow'rd the bird that drooped before; "Emblem of my country!" said he, "are thy pinions stained already In a tide whose blending waters never ran so red before? Is it with the blood of kinsmen? Tell me quickly, I implore!" Croaked the eagle--"BALTIMORE!" "Eagle," said the Shade, advancing, "tell me by what dread mischancing Thou, the symbol of my people, bear'st thy plumes erect no more? Why dost thou desert mine army, sent against the foes that harm me, Through my country, with a Treason worlds to come shall e'er deplore?" And the Eagle on the map, with bleeding wing, as just before, Blurred the name of BALTIMORE! "Can it be?" the spectre muttered. "Can it be?" those pale lips uttered; "Is the blood Columbia treasures spilt upon its native shore? Is there in the land so cherished, land for whom the great have perished, Men to shed a brother's blood as tyrant's blood was shed before? Where are they who murder Peace before the breaking out of war?" Croaked the Eagle--"BALTIMORE." At the word, of sound so mournful, came a frown, half sad, half scornful, O'er the grand, majestic face where frown had never been before; And the hands to Heaven uplifted, with an awful pow'r seemed gifted To plant curses on a head, and hold them there forevermore-- To rain curses on a land, and bid them grow forevermore-- Woe art thou, O BALTIMORE! Then the sacred spirit, fading, left upon the floor a shading, As of one with arms uplifted, from a distance bending o'er; And the vail of night grew thicker, and the death-watch beat the quicker For a death within a death, and sadder than the death before! And a whispering of woe was heard upon Potomac's shore-- Hear it not, O BALTIMORE! And the Eagle, never dying, still is trying, still is trying, With its wings upon the map to hide a city with its gore; But the name is there forever, and it shall be hidden never, While the awful brand of murder points the Avenger to its shore; While the blood of peaceful brothers God's dread vengeance doth implore, Thou art doomed, O BALTIMORE!