A bowman, taking careful aim,
Had brought an eagle low,
Who, as he fluttered earthward, came
To learn what caused his woe.
Out of the shaft some feathers stuck,
Which he of old had known-
Complaining at his cruel luck,
He saw they were his own.
Thus in his helpless final throes
The stricken bird was ruing
That often we may give our foes
The tools for our undoing.
