Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/198

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Triumph yet linger'd in his eye, Ere by the dark night seal'd, And his head was pillow'd haughtily On standard and on shield.

And shadowing that proud trophy pile With the glory of his wing, An eagle sat;—yet seem'd the while Panting through Heaven to spring.

He sat upon a shiver'd lance, There by the sculptor bound; But in the light of his lifted glance Was that which scorn'd the ground.

And a burning flood of gem-like hues From a storied window pour'd, There fell, there centred, to suffuse The conqueror and his sword.