High didst thou once in honour stand,

The falcon on a Prince’s hand:

Thine eye, unhooded and unsealed,

All depths of being pierced and scanned:

All worlds of space, from end to end,

Thy never-wearied pinion spanned.

O falcon of the spiritual heaven—

Entangled in an earthly band,

While all too eagerly thy prey

Pursuing in a lower land—

In hope abide;—thy Monarch yet

For thy release shall give command,

And bid thee to resume again

Thy place upon thy Monarch’s hand.