Then boot in the stirrup again, onward, over the mountain's ridge, desolate rook defying the sun, downward, plunging through hanging forests, clearing the chasm, bridging ravines, and still at noon the eagles, circling and screaming above them, shook over them the dew from their plumes.
— from The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 75, January, 1864 A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics by Various
|