Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/238

208 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE.

search of prey once raised his pinions An eaglet; A huntsman's arrow came, and reft His right wing of all motive power. Headlong he fell into a myrtle grove, For three long days on anguish fed, In torment writhed Throughout three long, three weary nights; And then was cured, Thanks to all-healing Nature's Soft, omnipresent balm. He crept away from out the copse, And stretched his wing—alas! Lost is all power of flight— He scarce can lift himself From off the ground To catch some mean, unworthy prey, And rests, deep-sorrowing, On the low rock beside the stream. Up to the oak he looks, Looks up to heaven, While in his noble eye there gleams a tear. Then, rustling through the myrtle boughs, behold, There comes a wanton pair of doves, Who settle down, and, nodding, strut O'er the gold sands beside the stream, And gradually approach; Their red-tinged eyes, so full of love, Soon see the inward-sorrowing one. The male, inquisitively social, leaps On the next bush, and looks Upon him kindly and complacently. "Thou sorrowest," murmurs he: "Be of good cheer, my friend!