Although beyond the eternal snows, aspiresThe vast-winged eagle still to loftier air,That nearer to the sun in blue more clearHe may renew his eyeball's splendid ires.
He rises. Sparks in torrents he inspires.Still up, in proud, calm flight, he glories whereThe storm breeds lightnings in its inmost lair;Whereat his wings are smit by their fierce fires.
With scream, in waterspout borne whirlingly,Shriveled, sublimely tasting flame's last kiss,He plunges to the fulgurant abyss.
Happy he who, for Fame or Liberty,In strength's full pride and dream's enrapturing blissDies such undaunted, dazzling death as this.
