Hint from the Mountains. for certain political aspirants

Stranger, ’tis a sight of pleasure
When the wings of genius rise,
Their ability to measure
With great enterprise;
But in man was ne’er such daring
As yon Hawk exhibits, pairing
His brave spirit with the war in
The stormy skies!

Mark him, how his power he uses,
Lays it by, at will resumes!
Mark, ere for his haunt he chooses
Clouds and utter glooms!
There, he wheels in downward mazes;
Sunward now his flight he raises,
Catches fire, as seems, and blazes
With uninjur’d plumes!—

ANSWER

Traveller, ’tis no act of courage
Which aloft thou dost discern;
No bold bird gone forth to forage
Mid the tempest stern;
But such mockery as the Nations
See, when Commonwealth-vexations
Lift men from their native stations,
Like yon tuft of fern;

Such it is, and not a Haggard
Soaring on undaunted wing;
’Tis by nature dull and laggard,
A poor helpless Thing,
Dry, and withered, light and yellow;—
That to be the tempest’s fellow!
Wait—and you shall see how hollow
Its endeavouring!