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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420597" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On Receiving An Eagle's Quill From Lake Superior</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All day the darkness and the cold<br>Upon my heart have lain,<br>Like shadows on the winter sky,<br>Like frost upon the pane;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now my torpid fancy wakes,<br>And, on thy Eagle's plume,<br>Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird,<br>Or witch upon her broom!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Below me roar the rocking pines,<br>Before me spreads the lake<br>Whose long and solemn-sounding waves<br>Against the sunset break.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh<br>The grain he has not sown;<br>I see, with flashing scythe of fire,<br>The prairie harvest mown!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the far-off voyager's horn;<br>I see the Yankee's trail,--<br>His foot on every mountain-pass,<br>On every stream his sail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By forest, lake, and waterfall,<br>I see his pedler show;<br>The mighty mingling with the mean,<br>The lofty with the low.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He's whittling by St. Mary's Falls,<br>Upon his loaded wain;<br>He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks,<br>With eager eyes of gain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the mattock in the mine,<br>The axe-stroke in the dell,<br>The clamor from the Indian lodge,<br>The Jesuit chapel bell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see the swarthy trappers come<br>From Mississippi's springs;<br>And war-chiefs with their painted brows,<br>And crests of eagle wings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe,<br>The steamer smokes and raves;<br>And city lots are staked for sale<br>Above old Indian graves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the tread of pioneers<br>Of nations yet to be;<br>The first low wash of waves, where soon<br>Shall roll a human sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The rudiments of empire here<br>Are plastic yet and warm;<br>The chaos of a mighty world<br>Is rounding into form!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each rude and jostling fragment soon<br>Its fitting place shall find,--<br>The raw material of a State,<br>Its muscle and its mind!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, westering still, the star which leads<br>The New World in its train<br>Has tipped with fire the icy spears<br>Of many a mountain chain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The snowy cones of Oregon<br>Are kindling on its way;<br>And California's golden sands<br>Gleam brighter in its ray!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then blessings on thy eagle quill,<br>As, wandering far and wide,<br>I thank thee for this twilight dream<br>And Fancy's airy ride!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet, welcomer than regal plumes,<br>Which Western trappers find,<br>Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown,<br>Like feathers on the wind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy symbol be the mountain-bird,<br>Whose glistening quill I hold;<br>Thy home the ample air of hope,<br>And memory's sunset gold!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In thee, let joy with duty join,<br>And strength unite with love,<br>The eagle's pinions folding round<br>The warm heart of the dove!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, when in darkness sleeps the vale<br>Where still the blind bird clings<br>The sunshine of the upper sky<br>Shall glitter on thy wings!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420597" data-title="On Receiving An Eagle's Quill From Lake Superior de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="All day the darkness and the cold
Upon my heart have lain,
Like shadows on the winter sky,
Like frost upon the pane;

But now my torpid fancy wakes,
And, on thy Eagle's plume,
Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird,
Or witch upon her broom!

Below ..."></div>
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