Anna Callender Brackett (1836–1911)

LO, the strong eagle, through the storm and night,

Up-winging to the light,

Sea-bound, as fitful rose along the shore

The low, deep roar

Of rising wind, and many-voiced, the sea

Moaned answer fitfully.

Adown from cloud to cloud the drooping sun

Drew near the horizon dun;

A ray of sunshine, then a shade again,

Till over all the unquiet main

Came down the doubtful shadow round his flight,

And deepened into night.

Dimly white-crested, lashing waves rose high

Against the stormy sky;

Full on his breast the angry blasts drove keen

With scarce a breath between,

And hurrying clouds but let a star shine through,

To vanish quickly too.

Till down upon the raging sea, the rain,

Like pain to quiet pain,

Came, driven by the scourging blasts of wind,

Still following close behind,

And mocking waves plucked at his onward flight

Through tempest and through night.

Yet still the beat of his strong pinions gave,

Through dashing wind and wave,

Their measure to the slow-paced hours, and still

Do find all powers of ill;

Alone, the patient pinions cleft the air,

Nor drooped once in despair.

So hour by hour the long night wore away,

And blossomed into day.

At last! at last! The morning breaks at last!

The night and storm are past;

On broad-browed headlands sleeps the sunlight free,

And there is no more sea!

At last upon the bravely throbbing breast,

The cleaving wings may rest.

O tireless pinions! Ye have won the light

Through tempest and through night.

O’er all the waves of time for us your echoes beat

In music strong and sweet.