I've watched in the azure the eagle's proud wing, His soaring majestic, and feathersome fling— Careening in liberty higher, and higher— Like genius unfolding a quenchless desire. Would a tear dim his eye, or pinions lose power To gaze on the lark in her emerald bower? When higher he soareth to compass his rest— What vision so bright as the dream in his breast! God's eye is upon him; He penciled his path, Whose omniscient notice the frail fledgling hath; Though lightnings were lurid, and earthquakes should shock, He rides on the whirlwind or rests on the rock.
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