26 MAY 1933, Page 17

Two Poems

I.—Iolaire

As an eagle stirs up her nest,

Flutters over her young,

'Urges them into the air, and, swooping under, Takes the strugglers pick-a-back for a space, Would the songs I sung

Might be to my race.

Alba, mother eagle, support me.

He who sings Struggles, and cannot yet float upwards From the high valleys among the Cairngorms like tilos Of your true brood : on the wings Whose movement is repose.