No, not in the meadow, and not on the shore; And not on the wide heath with furze covered o’er, Where the cry of the Plover, the hum of the bee, Give a feeling of joyful security: And not in the woods, where the nightingale’s song, From the chesnut and orange pours all the day long; And not where the Martin has built in the eaves, And the Red-breast e’er covered the children with leaves, Shall ye find the proud Eagle! O no, come away; I will show you his dwelling, and point out his prey! Away! let us go where the mountains are high, With tall splintered peak towering into the sky; Where old ruined castles are dreary and lone, And seem as if built for a world that is gone; There, up on the topmost tower, black as the night, Sits the old monarch Eagle in full blaze of light: He is king of these mountains: save him and his mate, No Eagle dwells there; he is lonely and great! Look, look how he sits! with his keen glancing eye, And his proud head thrown back, looking into the sky; And hark to the rush of his out-spreading wings, Like the coming of tempest, as upward he springs, And now how the echoing mountains are stirred, For that was the cry of the Eagle you heard! Now, see how he soars! like a speck in the height Of the blue vaulted sky, and now lost in the light! And now downward he wheels as a shaft from a bow By a strong archer sent, to the valleys below! And that is the bleat of a lamb of the flock;-- One moment, and he re-ascends to the rock.-- Yes, see how the conqueror is winging his way And his terrible talons are holding their prey! Great bird of the wilderness! lonely and proud, With a spirit unbroken, a neck never bowed, With an eye of defiance, august and severe, Who scorn’st an inferior, and hatest a peer, What is it that giveth thee beauty and worth? Thou wast made for the desolate places of earth; To mate with the tempest; to match with the sea; And God showed his power in the Lion and thee! THE GARDEN. I had a Garden when a child; I kept it all in order; ’Twas full of flowers as it could be, And London-pride was its border. And soon as came the pleasant Spring, The singing birds built in it; The Blackbird and the Throstle-cock, The Woodlark and the Linnet. And all within my Garden ran A labyrinth-walk so mazy; In the middle there grew a yellow Rose; At each end a Michaelmas Daisy. I had a tree of Southern Wood, And two of bright Mezereon; A Peony root, a snow-white Phlox, And a bunch of red Valerian; A Lilac tree, and a Guelder-Rose; A Broom, and a Tiger-lily; And I walked a dozen miles to find The true wild Daffodilly.