Thus the great eagle, when heav'n's wars are o'er,
And the loud thunder has forgot to roar,
fires laid by, with those of  burns,
To his forsaken mate and shades returns;
On some proud tree, more sacred than the rest,
With curious art he builds his spacious nest;
In the warm sun lies basking all the day,
While round their sire the gen'rous eaglets play;
Their sire, well-pleas'd to see the noble brood
Fill all the loftiest cedars of the wood.