The Dying Eagle

E. J. Pratt (1883 - 1964)

Edwin John Dove Pratt known as E. J. Pratt, was "the leading Canadian poet of his
time." He was a Canadian poet from Newfoundland who lived most of his life in Toronto,
Ontario. A three-time winner of the country's Governor General's Award for poetry, he has been
called "the foremost Canadian poet of the first half of the century."

A light had gone out from his vanquished eyes;

His head was cupped within the hunch of his shoulders;
His feathers were dull and bedraggled; the tips
Of his wings sprawled down to the edge of his tail.

He was old, yet it was not his age

Which made him roost on the crags
Like a rain-drenched raven
On the branch of an oak in November.
Nor was it the night, for there was an hour
To go before sunset. An iron had entered
His soul which bereft him of pride and realm,
Had struck him today; for up to noon
That crag had been his throne.

Space was his empire, bounded only

By forest and sky and the flowing horizons.
He had outfought, outlived all his rivals,
And the eagles that now were poised over glaciers
Or charting the coastal outlines of clouds
Were his by descent: they had been tumbled
Out of their rocky nests by his mate,
In the first trial of their fledgling spins.
Only this morning the eyes of the monarch
Were held in arrest by a silver flash
Shining between two peaks of the ranges-
A sight which galvanized his back,
Bristled the feathers on his neck,
And shot little runnels of dust where his talons
Dug recesses in the granite. Partridge? Heron? Falcon? Eagle? Game or foe?
He would reconnoiter.

Catapulting from the ledge,

He flew at first with rapid beat,
Level, direct: then with his grasp
Of spiral strategy in fight, He climbed the orbit
With swift and easy undulations,
And reach positions where he might
Survey the bird - for bird it was;
But such a bird as never flew
Between the heavens and the earth
Since pterodactyls, long before
The birth of condors, learned to kill
And drag their carrion up the Andes.

The eagle stared at the invader

Marked the strange bat-like shadow moving
In leagues over the roofs of the world,
Across the passes and moraines,
Darkening the vitriol blue of the mountain lakes.
Was it a flying dragon?
Head, Body and wings, a tail fan-spread
And taut like his own before the strike;
And there in front two whirling eyes
That took unshuttered
The full blaze of the meridian.
The eagle never yet had known

A rival he would not grapple,

But something in this fellow's length
Of back, his plated glistening shoulders,
Had given him pause.
And did that thunder
Somewhere in his throat not argue
Lightning in his claws?
And then
The speed - was it not double his own?
But what disturbed him most, angered
And disgraced him was the unconcern
With which this supercilious bird
Cut through the aquiline dominion,
Snubbing the ancient suzerain
With extra-territorial insolence,
And disappeared.

So evening found him on the crags again,

This time with sloven shoulders
And nerveless claws.
Dusk had outridden the sunset by an hour
To haunt his unhorizoned eyes.
And soon his flock flushed with the chase
Would be returning, threading their glorious curves
Up through the crimson archipelagoes
Only to find him there –
Deaf to the mighty symphony of wings,
And brooding
Over the lost empire of the peaks.

**************
Summary: The eagle king has lost its eyesight almost. It keeps it head in between its body with
tiredness. Its wings are dull and dirtier and hang below its tail. It is old but is not the age that has
made him to sit like a raven that drenched in the rain. It is not the night time too. It is an hour
before sunset.
An iron has entered into his soul which destitute his pride and territory on that day. Till
that afternoon this crag was his throne. From the forests to the boundless sky, the entire space
was like his empire. He has won all his enemies. The eagles that are in the glaciers or them
mapping the coastal areas are his descents. Even before they fledge the Eagle king had tumbled
them on the rocks from their nests.
In this morning the eyes of this monarch have been captured by the silver flash of a
mighty bird that flew in between the two peaks of the mountain ranges. This sight has titillated
this Eagle King. Even his hairs in the neck were bustled. The mighty bird’s feet were as strong as
digging clefts in the granite. The Eagle King couldn’t recognise whether it is a Partridge or a
Heron or a Falcon or even an Eagle.
The mighty bird flew in a rapid speed as if catapulted from a ledge and made a spiral. It
even reached the orbits without any rising and falling waves. It also reaches the positions from
where it could survey the other birds. There is no such bird it could reach the heaven and the
earth. The Eagle King even thinks of pterodactyls which were existed before the vulture and
could kill its carrion even in the Andes.
 The shadow of the strange invader seems like a bat upon the roofs of the world. It also
passes the moraines and vitriol; is it a dragon. It also has the head, body, wings and even the taut.
The two whirling eyes the mighty bird like the meridian bright has not shuttered. The Eagle King
hasn’t known about this strange bird before.
It is his enemy whom he can’t grapple over. The shoulders at the back of this strange bird
puzzled the Eagle King a lot. Its sound was like a thunder. His claws were like lightening. The
speed of the strange bird is double of the Eagle King. The anger and unconcern manner of this
supercilious bird that flew over the dominion of the Eagle King disturbed him most. This ancient
Suzerain made its spy in the territory with the impudent face and disappeared.
The Eagle King has found himself weak by the evening. His shoulders are untidy and his
claws become nerveless. He thinks that dusk come an hour before the sunset to haunt his eyes.
He also thinks that the flock that has chased away by him will come back again and to thread in
the crimson archipelagos. There will find him deaf by the wings of that mighty bird. They will
brood over the lost emperor of the peaks the Eagle King.
Analysis: This is an allegorical poem. It deals with the descending tradition and loss of
power. The Eagle King rules his territory without any opponent. He never allowed his rivals to
win over him. He tumbled them. But this strange bird was a big puzzle to him. In the same way
the poet on behalf of the Traditionalism worries about the modernism which is fascinating. The
Eagle King worries that the ‘mighty bird’ would be pterodactyl. He couldn’t recognise what kind
of a bird is it. The Eagle King worries that his chased away descents will come back and pity for
him of his deafness. Modernism can also make the Traditionalism diminishing.