But did ye see the eagle fall?

And so ye saw the eagle fall!

Struck in his flight of pride He hung in air one lightning moment, As wondering what the deadly blow meant, And what his blood's ebb tide. Whirling off sailed a loosened feather; Then headlong, pride and flight together,'T was thus ye saw the eagle fall!

Thus did ye see the eagle fall!

But on the sedgy plain,

Where closed the monarch's eye in dying, Marked ye the screaming and the vying Wherewith the feathered train, Sparrow and jackdaw, hawk and vulture,

The ladder which the Hebrew saw
Whenas he slept,

From earth God never doth updraw,
But still hath kept;

And angels ever to and fro
On errands swiftly glide and glow,-
For love above, for love below,
Its rounds have stept.

Thercon the saint doth daily mount
Above the stars,

Caring nowhit to take account
Of earthly bars;

Since well 't is known to such as he
There are no guards but pass him free;
He hath the watchword and the key,
In peace, or wars.

As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;

For I live on toasted lizards, Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards, And I'm really very fond of beetle-pie.

The clothes I had were furry,

And it made me fret and worry When I found the moths were eating off the hair;

And I had to scrape and sand 'em,
And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em,
Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.

I sometimes seck diversion
In a family excursion
With the few domestic animals you see;
And we take along a carrot

As refreshments for the parrot,
And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel Bits of moss and dirty gravel, And we chip off little specimens of stone; And we carry home as prizes Funny bugs of handy sizes,

Just to give the day a scientific tone.

If the roads are wet and muddy We remain at home and study, For the Goat is very clever at a sum, And the Dog, instead of fighting, Studies ornamental writing,

While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.

We retire at eleven,

And we rise again at seven;

And I wish to call attention, as I close,
To the fact that all the scholars
Are correct about their collars,
Aud particular in turning out their toes.

SONG FOR "THE JAQUERIE"

BETRAYAL

THE sun has kissed the violet sea, And burned the violet to a rose.

O Sea! wouldst thou not better be
Mere violet still? Who knows? Who

knows?
Well hides the violet in the wood:
The dead leaf wrinkles her a hood,
And winter's ill is violet's good;

The ferns and the fondling grass said
Stay,

The dewberry dipped for to work delay,
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,
Here in the hills of Habersham,
Here in the valleys of Hall.

High o'er the hills of Habersham,
Veiling the valleys of Hall,
The hickory told me manifold
Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,

Overlening, with flickering meaning and sign,

Said, Puss not, so cold, these manifold

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
These glades in the valleys of Hall.

And oft in the hills of Habersham,
And oft in the valleys of Hall,
The white quartz shone, and the smooth
brook-stone

Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, And many a luminous jewel lone

- Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,

Ruby, garnet, and amethyst

Made lures with the lights of streaming

stone

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail: I am fain for to water the plain. Downward the voices of Duty callDownward, to toil and be mixed with the main,

The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,

And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,
And the lordly main from beyond the plain
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,
Calls through the valleys of Hall.

THE MARSHES OF GLYNN

GLOOMS of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven

With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven

Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs,

Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire, Chamber from chamber parted with waver ing arras of leaves,

-

Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves,

Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood,

Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good;

O braided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the vine,

While the riotous noonday sun of the Juneday long did shine

Ye held me fast in your heart and I held you fast in mine;

But now when the noon is no more, and riot is rest,

And the sun is n-wait at the ponderous

gate of the West,

And the slant yellow beam down the woodaisle doth seem

Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream,

Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak,

And

my heart is at ease from men, and the wearisome sound of the stroke

Of the scythe of time and the trowel of trade is low,

And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know,

And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within,

That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore

When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitterness sore,

Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band

Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land. Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach-lines linger and curl

As a silver-wrought garment that elings to and follows the firm sweet limbs of a girl. Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight,

Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light.

And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high? The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky!

A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in the blade, Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade, Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain, To the terminal blue of the main.

Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea?

Somehow my soul seems suddenly free

From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin,

By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn.

Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free

Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea!

Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun,

Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won

God out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain

And sight out of blindness and purity out

of a stain.

As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod,

Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God:

I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies

In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies:

By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends

in the sod

I will heartily lay mo a-hold on the greatness of God:

Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within

The

range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glyun.

And the sen lends large, as the marsh: lo, out of his plenty the sen

Pours fast: full soon the time of the floodtide must be:

Look how the grace of the sea doth go
About and about through the intricate
channels that flow
Here and there,
Everywhere,

Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lying lanes,

And the marsh is meshed with a million veins,

That like as with rosy and silvery essences

flow

In the rose-and-silver evening glow.

Farewell, my lord Sun! The creeks overflow: a thousand rivulets

run