The New England Weekly Review

See! see! beside yon snowy cloud,
That dusky speck, as it floats away,
'Tis the form of our eagle, bold and proud,
As he hies him forth on his heavenward way.

Far, far above the rolling clouds he flies,
And there's nought that can stay his onward flight;
But ever upward, upward, still he hies,
Till the sun's pure beams refresh his sight.

For nothing he stoops, save his needed prey,
His pathway is still upward, his home on the rock,
And there's none can obstruct his airy way,
And none so great as our eagle to mock.

O'er all nations of earth he is wont to soar;
O'er his own native land, whose people are free—
By the mountain's dark side, and the cataract's roar;
And wherever he goes, he plants liberty's tree.

He graces the flag of our wide nation's host—
He floats on its folds, in every blast—
Of every true freeman the highest boast—
Of victory's emblems, the fondest and last.

Fly still, and ever higher soar,
Fit emblem of the free!
Till time itself shall be no more,
We'll e'er be proud of thee.
E.