That eagles fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espyd a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high. Waller.To a Lady singing.
So the struck eagle, . Viewd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wingd the shaft that quivered in his heart; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursd the pinion which impelled the steel. Byron.English Bards, etc. (On Kirke White.)