The Eagle and the Arrow

His outspread pinions swept the air,
And 'mid the clouds the eagle fair
Surveyed the earth spread out beneath,
Thick rolling woods and rising heath.
As all things met his keenest sight
Illumined in the morning light,
The feel of air and sense of flight
Convinced him of his volant might.
Out of a trace of cloud he flew,
A target sharp on background blue,
And then the archer, calm, restrained,
Released an arrow never rained.
The eagle's noble frame fell down
Upon the shrub-strewn, grassy ground,
By injuries his members bound,
Would lay unmoving there till found.
Those keenest eyes, by Nature shaped,
Not yet by mounting torpor draped,
Made out the hunter's sure approach
Then shut in anguished self-reproach.
"One moment wed to sun and sky,
Next joined to where foul corpses lie!
The turn of fate is always nigh,
Unknown to us how long we fly!"
As tortured judgments, these and more,
Engulfed the bird, a ruthless corps,
He focused every fading nerve
To part his eyes to again observe
The vast, vast world that was his own
Ere he was toppled from his throne.
His final sight confirmed cruel luck!
With self-wrought doom had havoc struck!
He knew the arrow's plumes too well,
Whose markings matched his outer swell!
Struck down by what had let him soar
And felled by self-made tools of war!