Page:Poems (Barbauld).djvu/53

Rh Thoe dip their crooked beak in kindred blood; Some haunt the ruhy moor, the lonely woods; Some bathe their ilver plumage in the floods; Some fly to man, his houhold gods implore, And gather round his hopitable door; Wait the known call, and find protection there From all the leer tyrants of the air. &emsp;The tawny eats his callow brood High on the cliff, and feats his young with blood. On Snowden's rocks, or Orkney's wide domain, Whoe beetling cliffs o'erhang the wetern main, The royal bird his lonely kingdom forms Amidt the gathering clouds, and ullen torms: Thro' the wide wate of air he darts his ight And holds his ounding pinions pois'd for flight; With cruel eye premeditates the war, And marks his detin'd victim from afar: