The Eagle of the Blue.

Aloft he guards the starry folds

Who is the brother of the star;

The bird whose joy is in the wind

Exultleth in the war.

No painted plume — a sober hue,

His beauty is his power;

That eager calm of gaze intent

Foresees the Sibyl's hour.

Austere, he crowns the swaying perch,

Flapped by the angry flag;

The hurricane from the battery sings,

But his claw has known the crag.

Amid the scream of shells, his scream

Runs shrilling; and the glare

Of eyes that brave the blinding sun

The vollied flame can bear.

The pride of quenchless strength is his —

Strength which, though chained, avails;

The very rebel looks and thrills —

The anchored Emblem hails.

Though scarred in many a furious fray,

No deadly hurt he knew;

Well may we think his years are charmed —

The Eagle of the Blue.