The Maiden of Moscow A Poem, in Twenty-One Cantos. By the Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | CANTO IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
 | The Maiden of Moscow |  |
92
CANTO IV.
I.
In Lithuania's capital,Begirdled with its mighty wall,
Those weather-broken troops awhile
Remained to rest them from their toil!
And, sooth to say, was sharp the need
Of fainting man and jaded steed:
Their ardour damped, their vigour drained,
Their gallant energies o'erstrained,
But ill might these have more sustained—
Of travel stern—and labours sore;
'T was well such desperate task was o'er!—
Of Gaul's grand army thus a part,
Well fortified by warlike art,
In Wilna's town securely stay,
Reposing them as best they may,
Despite of wrong, and waste, and grief,
Cheered by the presence of their chief!—
Me lists not curiously to dwell
On all that far and near befell;
Nor all the war's strange turns to tell!—
Me lists not now in lengthened strain—
'Twere harsh and heavy task, and vain,
To point and mark with close detail
How bold attempts succeed or fail,—
93
Obstruct—pursue—advance—retreat—
Attack—defend—disperse—divide—
Thwarted or shaken, or defied;
How adverse generals watch with skill,
To overreach each other still!—
Me lists not closely to declare
All circumstance of warfare there;
Nor with attentive hand t' untwine
Linked chains of operations fine;
Nor yet to unravel work and wile—
Through which shrewd craft would craft beguile,—
Nor all those webs and wheels that be,
Sinews and soul of strategy!—
II.
Suffice it, then, thus much to say,Full many a skirmish light, and fray,
Had chanced between the troops led on
By him who filled Westphalia's throne;
And those that shield their much-loved land
Beneath Bagration's strict command—
(Bagration! whose enlaurelled name
Doth proud interpretation claim—
“God of the Army!” sound of fame!—)
Endangered these appeared awhile,
And caught within the lion's toil,—
Dissevered from that mighty host,
Where Russia placed her hopes the most—
94
From that protecting friendly force!
But extricated soon and freed,
Through wily schemes that well succeed,
Their general with success doth lead
His columns far through winding ways,
To where the mightier army stays,
And gains, through routes circuitous,
The much-wished, happy junction thus.
III.
Slight skirmish, too—but marked with gore,Had dyed the Dwina's shaken shore:
Where crossed the river's silvery line,
With venturous plan and brave design,
Th' enterprising Wittgenstein,
And bade, when night did darkling brood,
(Seizing the advantage, sharp and shrewd,)
Sebastiani's vanguard feel
The edge and strength of Russian steel.
Enough!—from Wilna's guarded towers
Now marched the Emperor and his powers.
Hot burned July's triumphant sun,
And glowed their bristling lines upon.
Two days Napoleon forward pressed—
The third he taketh up his rest
Where near Klubokoè's town uprears
Its walls, a convent, that o'erpeers
The habitations thronged below
In many a dark and rugged row.—
95
IV.
Brief space sojourns he there; ere longCome tidings fresh and rumours strong
That Barclay, with his legioned bands,
To where Witepsk, the bulwarked, stands,
Speeds on with purpose fixed and deep,
And well his onward course doth keep:
To Kamen, then, the route is ta'en—
Th' army proceeds yet once again,
All burning with one ardent hope,—
Which strengthens each when nigh to droop;
That battle's bloody star shall rise
Once more before their longing eyes,
And end the anxieties intense
Of these long watches and suspense.
Now to Beszenkowicz they tend—
And hurrying there their course they bend,—
Well pleased, still looking to the end,—
Buoyed up by that sustaining dream
That tempts them on still gleam by gleam—
The sun-dream dazzling far and wide,
Of Victory's earth-o'erblazing pride!
Red Glory's star is still to them
Creation's crowning diadem!—
Its triumph glows in every pulse
That doth their bounding hearts convulse;
For them its rays all heaven o'errun—
It is a Sun within the Sun!
Glory!—it is their light of light—
Heaven's crowned archangel in their sight;—
96
It lighteth all things—stream and source—
Air, earth, and heaven with radiance fierce—
The Uriel of the universe!—
Which streams to one vast pomp, ablaze
With its proud royalty of rays!
V.
That sea of steel, and fire, and life,Rolls on as with Itself at strife;
With bickering splendours—changeful show—
And many a warlike noise they go!—
Hark! doth the horizon shuddering send
A hint with their proud dreams to blend?
Hark! is't the cannon's distant voice
That makes their conscious hearts rejoice?
It is the cannon's deep, deep tone,
Through their roused souls sent sounding on!—
The Italian Viceroy, some leagues off,
Hath late encountered Docteroff,
Who the rear-guard commanding leads
Of that vast force which Barclay heads.
Eugene—Beszenkowicz enthralls—
Makes himself master of its walls;
And where the Dwina's current flows,
A spanning bridge in haste he throws
Across the water's glistening breast,
(Unconscious of its dangerous guest)—
In place of that, the parting foe—
Whose troops in gallant order go—
(Well these th' opponent's purpose know!)
97
Confusedly into fragments driven.
VI.
Napoleon seeks the Dwina now,And treads its banks with lightened brow;
Rolls glad his sparkling conquest new
Beneath Heaven's paradise of blue:
There bends awhile in careful mood
That mighty master o'er the flood;
Turns to the bridge constructed there
With critic sneer—with glance severe;
Blames—spurns—commands—points wrong and fault,—
Enough!—he may no longer halt.
He lingers not by Dwina fair;
Ambition hath no time to spare!
Once crossed the wave, he shapes his course
To mark where moves the Russian force.
He trusts a master's game to play,
And check them on their prosperous way.
In vain!—some chance-made prisoners tell
What all corroborates but too well—
(While chafes stern disappointment's grief,)
That Russia's general-in-chief
Fenced in Witepsk's strong walls remains,
And that position well retains.
VII.
The Gallic chief, 'mid thoughtful cares,Straight to Beszenkowicz repairs
98
Though tired and worn,—with gallant cheer
Two breathless Armies onwards rolled,
Roughening the air with steel and gold;—
(Hope to their souls fresh cheer doth lend—
Thus gained their wearying journey's end!)
By the North road and by the West,
With banners, tromp, and nodding crest,
They come, like ocean's flood and flow,
Startling, with restless stir and show,
The skies above and earth below!
They wave—wind—glisten—near and far—
A moving Wilderness of War!—
Those armies,—whom their chief awaits—
Together thundering at the gates,
Such clamours wake around—above—
Earth seems to breathe—the skies to move!—
Nought—nought—in fixedness remains,—
Rock the roused woods, and wheel the plains;
The rivers seemed impelled to rush
With faster flow—with reddening flush;
The winds seemed wakening,—winged,—and sent
More wildly fleet o'er tower and tent—
'Tis movement, haste and riot all,
As Discord held her carnival!—
(For Discord, mother of all war,
Seems daughter, too—so clash and jar
The myriads she has called to aid
At foot of her red throne arrayed!—)
99
VIII.
Genius! be thy high sway admired!—The magic powers by thee acquired!
Time—Space, should seem thy beck to wait—
Thou givest thy mighty laws to fate!
Mark, at one moment, gathering here
These masses startlingly appear
At one same point—at one same place—
In one same hour—a well-run race!—
(As urged by some mysterious power
That hath all triumph for its dower—)
Assembling by attraction strange,
While welcomes loud they interchange—
From distant parts and various ways,
Spite of obstructions and delays!—
With such precision were obeyed
The injunctions on their leaders laid—
The injunctions and behests received
From him who best the war-web weaved—
That though from Niemen's far-off banks
Came all their intermingling ranks—
Moved thence at different times—thence sped
By different routes and widely spread,
Yet here collected were they found,
United on the chosen ground!
At the indicated spot together,
Despite of way—war—waste—and weather!
An hundred leagues of land between
Their meeting-point and parting scene!—
100
They thus have timed their march and met!
Concentrating, the armed cohorts pour,
With clang—and tramp—and shout—and roar,
Upon that chosen spot—and beat
The battered earth with hurrying feet,
With maddened rout and hustling din
From separate quarters rushing in,
They crowd the avenues and halt,
From farther thoroughfare's default!
IX.
Beszenkowicz! thy streets they choked—Each helped the block—none calmly brooked!—
Increased the riot—swelled the clang—
As though a thousand anvils rang;
That strange confusion from their bed
Might wake and whirl the wondering dead!
Hurrying and clashing—throng on throng—
Strive hard with hand, and foot, and tongue—
Shouldering each other still along!
Clamour, and strife, and struggle mar
The calm hours of the evening star.
Here sounds the trumpet, sharp and clear;
There hoarse, harsh shouts assail the ear;
Here, deepening roll the doubling drums;
And there some flying courier comes—
Trampling among the jostling crowd,
With threat imperative and loud;
101
(On urgent business rides he bound).
But vain his efforts—vain his threats—
The way-denying crowd besets;
His courser checks, and bears him back
All helpless on the trodden track;
The messenger of fate and fear
Spells backwards thus his wild career;
Or wedged remains he stiff and still,
Fixed like a statue, 'gainst his will,
('Mongst those dense living heaps that load
The groaning pavements of the road)—
With fluttering heart and flashing eye,
Stayed midway in volocity!
Heave his steed's flanks, and labouring play—
Right glad is he of such delay!
But strange it seems to see them stand,
With crushing throngs on either hand,
Quivering with haste—and onwards bound,
But forced to that repose profound!
X.
Shout loud the infuriate charioteers,Goading their yoked and labouring steers;
Or straining horses, weary-worn,
Which scarce the wain's huge wheels can turn.
Kibitka, car, sledge, cannon, here
Inextricably mixed appear!
And still the din goes deepening on—
Tumultuously its way, it won!—
102
Oaths,—groans,—threats,—prayers, that no one heeds—
Sound echoing still and multiplied—
From every part—on every side!
While herds of bullocks in the rear,
Half maddening with distress and fear,
Loud bellowing stamp—and press—and throng—
Hard driven, and goaded sharp along!
(Those herds—designed the hosts to feed,
And serve their overwhelming need—
Whether urged on in droves apart,
Or harnessed, sluggish and inert,
To ponderous cars and waggons vast,
Shrunk still in size and numbers fast;—
Their pasturage scant—their travail sore—
They pined—they perished—score by score.)
XI.
The tumult partly seems subdued;Now seek the famished needful food,—
The sick, medicaments and aid,
The way-worn—some cool lodgment's shade;
And all, repose from lengthened toil,
And travail's rout and clamour's broil.
But No!—'tis otherwise ordained—
The awakening hope hath quickly waned,
Despite their wish,—whate'er their will,—
“Forward!” the word is “Forward!” still!—
Orders reiterated are heard—
“On! on!” is still the signal word.
103
From various parts the sense o'erpowered;
But all still point—all surely tend
To one, the self-same certain end!
And rapidly the word was given—
And rapidly the troops were driven
From out the town that saw them late
Poured in tumultuous through her gate!
Those mighty masses roll at last,
Unravelled from confusions past,
Direct to where Ostrowno lies—
Ordered and mustered warlike wise;
E'en through the night are still pressed on
These preparations—till—'tis done!
To clang of arms, and tramp of steeds,
And all the hubbub, fast succeeds
A hush oppressive and profound—
No breath—no step—no movement round!
XII.
It almost seemed the yawning earthHad swallowed up that monster birth—
That new prodigious World of Life,
With all its elements of strife,
So suddenly they flashing came,
With storm—with thunder—and with flame;
So startlingly they passed away,
Like clouds upon a gusty day;
Deep Night and Peace asked, “Where are they?”
104
Next morn on battle's front should gleam;
And many a heart throbbed high and free
In that austere expectancy.
But vain the dream—the hope was vain—
No mighty battle fired the plain,
Whose vast result might bid to cease
The lengthened strife in lengthened peace!
XIII.
But many a conflict, sharp though slight,Proved France's fire and Russia's might;
Wild Croats, wilder Cossacks there,
Rent with fierce war-whoops all the air.
O'er many a combat, staunch and true,
The rival standards glorying flew
Through many a struggle, still unmatched,
Murat's high zeal the laurels snatched;
Till Admiration, stunned and scared,
Forgot to count the deeds he dared!
And eyes accustomed to his feats,—
While memory still her tale repeats,
Half doubt the wonders they behold—
The fresh deeds beggaring those of old!
Aye! those who long and oft had seen
His venturous acts of valour keen—
As charmed—as wildered—o'er them lean
As much enraptured o'er the sight—
As full of wondering strange delight—
As thrilled—amazed as those who ne'er
Before had hailed that presence fair!
105
There the red heart of battle burns,—
There Victory seems to smile and spread
Her wings to canopy his head!
His ardour fires the fight to flame,
And following him is fettering fame!—
There seems a spell in even his name!—
They shout in to the skies—and feel
Its very echo nerve and steel!
XIV.
Enthusiast of the wars!—thy soulDoth all inspire—command—controul—
Mighty to animate the whole!
Lo! 'tis thy spirit that informs
Those crowding ranks—those clustering swarms—
That emulous, appear to guide
Their course, where shines thy place of pride!
Fall but thy shadow where they stand—
Invulnerable becomes their band!
Where beams thy presence, seem they caught
In valour's vortex—dreading naught—
While more than mighty deeds are wrought,
That yet were glimpsed not e'en in thought!
They rise above themselves—reflect
Thy light—and miracles effect!—
The Enthusiast of the wars!—the front
Of battle and its sharpest brunt
To him—high-priest of old renown—
Was dearer than his throne and crown.
106
They cower before the Plume of Snow!
Its whiteness dazzles earth and sky—
Charge! charge! crowned King of Chivalry!
Those prodigies of bravery make
A track of heroes in thy wake!
Soul of the battle!—where thou art,
Cowards into heroism might start;
And where thou hast the opponent tamed,
Heroes awhile seem cowards unblamed!
XV.
Soon these chance conflicts passed away,Nor marked one deep decided day.
Napoleon now beholds at length
The dread display of Russia's strength!—
High swells his heart with hope, ere long
To prove which host may stand most strong;
And soon they well commence the attack—
Rush Glory's sons on Glory's track!
Full soon the impatient troops engage,
In all the might of martial rage!
The scene,—that clanging onset shakes
The world,—lashed into fury, wakes!—
Prodigal of their blood appear
Those combatants that struggle here—
Unsparing of their lives, the brave
Shed gore, as 'twere like ocean's wave;—
That when one melts upon the shore
Is followed by ten thousand more!
107
XVI.
But not for long the conflict lasts—Not long the field, War's demon wastes;
He hears Napoleon's mandate—“Cease!”
He pauses—and gives place to peace!
That chain of fire wherewith he bound
The disputants of that dark ground,—
Which girt them with hot hatreds round,
With slow reluctance he unlinks,
And back to his red lair he shrinks,
To wait till that stern earthquake voice
Once more shall call him to rejoice!
Now the dread majesty of France
Along the lines would guide his glance,—
The ground with nice attention scan,—
Fix his position—form his plan—
And wait till other troops appear,
That lingering yet, are missing here,—
(That, screened from sight, must still be near!—)
He fain with curious skill and care
Would next day's crowning strife prepare;
For so he hopes, and so he deems,
These pettier strifes' empurpling streams,
Where victory's sun but faintly gleams,
Shall on the morrow burst and sweep
To one great Ocean's crimson Deep!—
And there together gathering blend
And mingle to a mighty end!
108
While the enemy stood strongly placed!—
His front of battle glorious shone—
Fair deeds his dauntless bands had done,—
Guarding a Capital he stood,—
'Twill rise!—t' will sweep!—that sea of blood!
How, mighty Heart! couldst thou adjourn,
Thy fortune's cast, thy present spurn?
How—how couldst thou so largely err,
The harvest thus—and the hour defer?
XVII.
Sunset had seen the MuscovitesEncamped amid its ruddy lights!
Did sunrise, brightening, fresh and fair,
Still find them congregated there?
No sign—no trace of them is found—
No token of their presence round!
No! there is sky, and air, and ground,
But not one symptom of the show
That lent them life brief hours ago;—
That seemed to animate—to smite
Nature a-glow with Life—as Light!
Again the haughty heart of him,
Whose eyes strained towards the horizon's rim,
(After that disappearing host,
To his deep wish thus darkly lost),
Must sink—that towering heart must droop,
With sickening of a silenced hope!
109
XVIII.
The astucious policy that guidesGreat Russia's counsels, and presides
O'er her deep hallowed war supreme,
And well doth build the finished scheme—
(The vast and firmly-'stablished plan
To fence the holiest rights of man.)
Harsh sacrifice awhile enjoins
Of patriot ardour's outward signs—
Imposing still restriction stern
On hopes that madden as they burn!
And wills, that thus drawn on—the foe,
Weakened, with lengthened course and slow—
(O'er Russia's wide extended land
Where boundless tracts on tracts expand),
Should struggle, day by day, 'gainst all
That must precipitate his fall!
Nor close in one decisive field,
With those—her glorious arms that wield!
This subtle policy and sure
Foresees what they must yet endure,
Who Nature—Reason—Right defy—
Dare the elements and mock the sky!—
This leaves them to themselves, to be
The agents of their extremity;
Though not without the additions dire
Of worrying feud and wasting fire;—
Depopulated plains that spread,
Echoing the wildered wanderers' tread—
110
Without one human whispering hope—
Shall smite them with a dreadful sense
Of desolation too immense!—
These—these things still shall aid and swell
Those horrors they shall know too well;
(Whose seeds were hidden from the first,
In that dark enterprise accursed!)
Horrors that hour by hour shall grow,—
E'en from themselves—their own worst foe—
As smote some suicidal blow!—
Far-seeing wisdom! well thy glance
Marked the disastrous march of France!
XIX.
Rolls the Lucczzissa tranquillyBeneath the warrior-monarch's eye,
With all the beauty of the sky—
A mighty jewel—at her breast!—
In chrystal flow and golden rest,—
A mighty jewel, sooth, it seems
That lustrous sky, which bluely beams,
Worn on the water's breast of peace,
Which lends its splendour, bright increase!
While fervid tints of sweet July
Bepaint the azured canopy!
Some few short fleeting hours ago
The stream had imaged in its flow
Another splendour—other show—
Rich as that firmamental glow!
111
An army's moving glory there,
Reflecting in their face of sheen
A living landscape's wavering scene;
A glory of immortal birth—
A pageant of unfading worth!—
Ev'n as that righteous army past
From thy smooth tide, where brightly glassed,
A thousand glorious hues it cast,—
Lucczzissa!—river calm and deep,
(So hush'd, thou seemest to move in sleep),
Another shall evanish all—
O'erthrown and lost beyond recall,
From Earth's unchanged, unclouded face,
Nor leave a token nor a trace;—
No proud memorial leave to boast
How thousand captains ruled that host;
No hint to tell of how they went,
Glorying in pride armipotent,—
No trophy, and no monument!
XX.
And now Witepsk's strong walls containThe Great Commander and his train;
Declares he, too, his purpose fixed
(Th' offspring of many motives mixed),
Awhile within these walls to rest:
Sooth, seemed it sagest plan and best!
Thus might his ranks, their labours o'er,
Be reinforced by thousands more;
112
(That lagged behind, of strength bereft)—
Exhausted—hopeless—by the way,
Without a shelter or a stay;
When toiled their brawnier comrades on,
These sank, o'erharassed and undone—
By them may yet the goal be won!
The sick, too, thus perchance may gain,
Despite their fevered plight and pain,
Their hospitals—where sheltered—soothed—
Their onward paths may yet be smoothed;
Besides, 'twere surely right and wise,
Secure—to wait the wished supplies;
To pause, till might at length advance,
(And gain this farthest point perchance;—)
The abundant stores and treasures long
Abandoned,—desert wilds among!—
The artillery,—wains,—pontoons,—that still,
With progress slow, their course fulfil,
Obedient to received commands,
Still trailed through Lithuanian sands.
XXI.
Yet other things combined to shewThe sagest plan to follow now
Was here securely to remain,
Till Winter parts with all his train,—
His dreadful powers of winds and snows—
His clouds—his frosts—unnumbered foes—
113
The outwearied troops—the harassed ranks
Await, till Spring's green flag unfurled
Gives plenty to the awakening world;
Though just, though wise, such schemes must be
Dictated loud by policy—
Proud chief! but ill they suited Thee!—
His counsellors on every hand
Admired—approved, what thus was planned,
The while his heart within him burned,
And fiercely, his own wisdom spurned!—
The impatience gathering at his soul
Mocks, hour by hour, his vain controul;
New plans, his fiery wishes form,
Till thought on thought,—grows storm on storm!—
XXII.
Repenting of his prudent scheme,His mind is tossed on tempest dream—
New phantasies tumultuous rise
Before his vision-haunted eyes;—
Moscow in chains!—the imperial throne
Of Russia, minioned to his own;
Its princedoms bowed beneath his feet,—
Its strongholds made his vassals' seat,—
Her pride his spoil—her wealth his fee—
Thus thronged his dreams of empiry;
Still Moscow—Moscow crowned the whole—
The Mecca of his maddening soul!
114
Outstretched from thence her hands to bless.
Enough! there towers his triumph's arch—
Moscow!—to Moscow—let them march!—
And thus his haughty musings flowed:—
“Shame! shame—to pause on such a road!—
On such a glorious path of fame,
To dream of such dull check were shame!
The expecting world awaits in vain
The Immortal Eagle's victory reign;
Astonished at the unwonted pause,
As at some lapse of Nature's laws!—
As though the sun eclipsed remained,
From cause—unshewn and unexplained,—
As though the rushing winds were bound,
Mid headlong course, in hush profound!—
The sea forgot his measured tide,
And stagnant stood in humbled pride—
So wonder all shall seize that thus
Our tardy arms forbear the Russ!
Amazement thrill each dubious mind—
‘What fetters can the conqueror bind?’
Dark change should thus th' awed nations stun,
In Nature or—Napoleon!
In Nature or Napoleon, strange,
In sooth, should seem such startling change!”
XXIII.
Fast through his mind fresh schemes evolve—Fixed stands his choice and proud resolve;—
115
Till firm-decided was his course!
He hesitates no more—away!
The hour hath risen—hath dawned the day!
Up to the sky!—sun-startling thing!
Thou victory-sign of Victory's King!
Up to the sky!—Up! Eagle!—now!—
He breathes the word—and worlds must bow!—
His great conception fills his mind—
Leaves the Actual and the Hour behind!
Already doth he seem to stalk
O'er Victory's plain—his laurelled walk!
Already seems, with voice elate,
To dictate to subservient fate.
The kindlings of his kingly look
The amazed beholder scarce may brook;
His aspect burns with breathing dreams!
The Mightiest—while his spirit beams—
High Battle's giant genius seems!—
Possessed he moves with mystic might—
Darts from his eye portentous light;
His lip, with fateful firmness closed,
Round which no gentler smile reposed,
Appeared to hint of desperate doom,
Stern wreathed in solemn curve of gloom;
His forehead spreads,—a thunder-cloud,
With weight of might and ruin bowed!—
Anon a change!—the darkness sinks—
The sternness from that aspect shrinks;
116
With darkness' Soul seemed shadowed o'er!—
So frowned it with profound excess
Of deep, overwhelming awfulness!
XXIV.
'Tis all intolerable light!His soul of fire appears in sight!—
His features—sudden, fluttering, play
Like sunbeams on a stirring day,
Even dazzling with august dismay;—
War's Giant Genius surely there—
Traced terribly in form and air,
With all the passion of his pride
Stands awfully personified!
Anon another change is seen—
Fixed grows that aspect—calm that mien—
His voice has lost its piercing tone,
Like sudden trumpet wildly blown—
That rang upon the sense and woke
Echoes—which fast and fiercely broke.
Tranquillity there dwells enthroned—
In the aspect touched—in the accents toned—
Still—still the sun is at his soul,—
He clouds it o'er with strong controul;
Guards the avenues of daring thought—
The approaches of what flamed and wrought
Within his bosom—fervour-fraught,—
Till none might pierce the careful fold,
Nor aught but what he willed, behold!
117
Of that triumphant breadth of brow
Is all unflushed, unruffled now.
His very step hath now regained
Composure, by his will constrained;
And yet the while what dreams of doom
Fast crowding on his spirit come,
While in his soul,—by throes untorn,—
Launched into life's auspicious morn
Thoughts—Giants of the Mind!—are born!—
And those who round the Dreamer stood—
How hailed they, herald signs of blood?—
Himself commanding—swayed he all—
Looks, movements, breath, seemed bound in thrall!—
Though numbers there, with deep dismay
Prepared his mandates to obey—
And shrunk from that he breathless sought,
As 't were with certain ruin fraught,—
How few dared counsels interpose—
Alas!—those few he counted foes!—
XXV.
The sun—the sun is in his soul!—His deathless thoughts in triumph roll;
He spheres them round on every side,
Till all reflects their boundless pride.
The sun is in his soul!—and yet
On his dimmed forehead hath it set;
Seems all that there the eye can see
The o'ershadowing of serenity!
118
His plan in all its parts displayed
Before his mental piercing view,
That sifts and probes it through and through.
And not a doubt remains to him,
To whom past Glory seems but dim;—
The Coming Glory all his sphere—
And lo! it smiles already here!—
Give back!—Horizon!—boundless be—
He comes like all the eternity!
He comes in terrors of his wrath—
The Waves of Worlds toss round his path!
Thrones quake,—Time rocks,—Light, Space have been—
He seems the hour—the sway—the scene!—
The Brightness that irradiates all!—
Shrink Nature! in thine ice-built hall—
Thy fortresses of death-like frost—
Thine old ascendancy is lost!
Thou—that with tempest, hail, and snow,
Hast racked thine own great realms below
A Force—a Fiat now must know!—
Thou, that—to harmony subdued—
Yet claim'st to waken partial feud,
And call up, bravely, at thy will,
A dark Apparent Chaos still!—
(That well constrained by heavenly might,
But serves creation's needs aright.)
Thou must be mocked and set aside—
In thine own strongholds ev'n defied—
Thy chartered liberty denied!—
119
Till mad presumption pales to awe?
XXVI.
Why changes yet once more the mienOf him—Thrice-Thunderer of the scene!
His look reveals a world of wrath—
What comes to cloud his onward path?
What—what hath chanced to tame his thought?—
(Through all its portions—high and haught—
But now—in Starlike Systems wrought!—)
Say! what doth that changed glance express
With such appalling awfulness?
Even now the cold hand of Distrust
Shakes half his fabrics down to dust—
Arrests the flight of Hope's swift wings
And back the awakened Dreamer brings
Unto the common world of things.
Came envoys to Witepsk with news,
To which he fain would trust refuse;
These to Red Russia's realm belong,
And strange the tidings of their tongue!—
The Moslem's wars with Muscovy
Concluded, leave that country free
To prosecute, with deeper might,
The wars of self-defence and right;
By veteran thousands,—now released
From fields where battle's din hath ceased;—
Her banded strengths shall be increased!—
120
And rage on his—the Invader's, rear;
Dark tidings these, which he receives,
As one that maddens and believes!—
So fierce the passion of that ire
Which cloathed his glance in storm and fire!—
Already seemeth now to rise,
Before his long deep-blinded eyes,
All dangers of his enterprise
To blast his hope and freeze!
His o'er-tasked inner sight doth ache—
A Monster-phantom of Mistake
Meets face to face—and must he shake
Like demons that believe and quake?—
No! he denies and sees!—
He deigns not own—yet sees the while,
And fain would build to cheer—beguile—
'Twixt him and Truth a mountained pile
Of conquering energies!
XXVII.
Fair shines the Crescent's bannered pride,In friendship with this land allied!
Constantinople doth recall
Her turbanned bands and cohorts all;
For finished is her northern war,—
She sheathes her puissant scymetar—
The yellow-bearded Ghiaours no more
Shall slake its sharp edge with their gore;
121
In bands of concord now shall bind
The Crescent and the Cross entwined!
The peace thus fixed on either side
At Bucharest was ratified;
Then Delhi fierce, and Janizar—
And Spahi—fleet as shooting-star—
Flung down the weapons of their war;
Their horse-tails flew and flapped no more—
The storm lies hushed—the strife is o'er!—
The dreadful combat's echoes cease—
Two Empires kiss the hands of Peace.
“On! on!—for this yet speedier on!
The destined victory must be won!”
Thus cried high Fortune's favourite son,
Till seemed it nobly dared and done!
“For destined it shall be!—
On to Smolensk! and crowned success
Create from ribs of ruin!—Yes!
And found midst fear's perplexed distress
And gathering anarchy!
What Fate denies unto our prayer
We will undoomed—undaunted tear
From her stern iron hold!—
Turn all the chaos that she brings
With one dread wave of Victory's wings,
To new creation's mould!
On! on! to towered Smolensko's gates!
There glory without end awaits—
122
On him who would one instant stay
Upon this thickly-laurelled way
Fall France's curse and shame!”
XXVIII.
Forth from Witepsk full soon they fare,With standards waving high in air,
And all the din that martial-wise
An army's march accompanies!
With such a chief what host could bow?—
True!—some dread stormy battle now—
(That hope doth lightening flush his brow)—
Immediately impending seems;—
The future wears War's reddening beams!
Tidings momentous have been gained—
These proudly pleased—those sternly pained!—
Tidings of triumph!—bright success—
That well Beauharnois' arms did bless:
Tidings of gloom!—the stern defeat—
(Near where rolls Dnieper's mazy sheet,
And stands Inkowo beside its shore)—
Which Sebastiani's followers bore!
While Barclay bends, with columns three,
His course toward Rudneia threateningly;
Now must the important choice be made—
The various questions nicely weighed.
The deep alternatives are these—
(No playthings of the passing breeze!—)
123
That promises but loss immense
With endless difficulties girt—
Now, Genius! now—thy might assert!
XXIX.
Decides Napoleon!—in his mind—At once the whole is fixed—combined;
His movements all are re-arranged—
His line of operations changed!—
Transferred from Dwina's watery maze
To where the far-famed Dnieper strays!—
Concentrating—hard by, its course,
The mighty numbers of his force!—
Orcha, the central point round which
These marshalled multitudes shall stretch;
Then—turning Barclay's left wing so,
'Stead of his right—as feared the foe,
(Whose outposts' hints had roused that fear),
'Till gained the unconscious army's rear—
He trusts to foil the opponents keen
That now confront him on the scene!
So doth he hope, with matchless skill,
To circumvent their General still—
To occupy Smolensk—divide
The Russian legions' power and pride
From Moscow and the southern side,
And centre of that empire wide!—
These hosts he mocks—Earth-trampling man!—
With his preponderating plan!
124
The deep surprise that foe had dared
To dream—should yet smite him, ensnared!—
Four bridges o'er the Dnieper soon
With expeditious zeal were thrown;
And these speed well upon their way
The brave Davoust and gallant Ney;
The Viceroy, too, there crossed the stream—
All aids the deep-foundationed scheme.
There Naples' swordsman-sovereign leads
The gallant cavalry he heads;
And Poniatowski doth repair
By different routes, with Junot there,
The important movement to support,
Right well atchieved in martial sort!
XXX.
Soon the Emperor to Rassasna came—There crossed that stream of ancient fame!—
For the first time these waters fair
A Gallic army wondering bear.
The Romans knew their currents fleet—
But through their shame and their defeat.
'Twas on this old and famous flood
Odin and Rurick's tameless brood—
Sons of the North—fierce men of blood—
Barbaric chivalry and dread,
Savage, as climes where they were bred,
Poured down, with ravage in their train,
To prove great Stamboul's bulwarks vain!
125
Touched by faint glooms from shadowing trees—
Transpierced by tints as mild as these—
Rolled brightening the old Borysthenes.
Shift we the scene!—Now dreadless Ney
Bids Krasnoé own his sabre-sway;
While Newerowskoi, hardly pressed,
Would gain Smolensk's embattailled crest,
But fiercely, hot Murat attacks—
His gathering dangers deadlier wax—
Storms Grouchy—raging on his rear—
Whose mightier bands should muster here;
(But ill-directed—wandering wide—
Part of these squadrons swerve aside,
And far their erring course misguide
Towards Eillnia—distant from the place,
Where they should keep the Russians' trace.)
Stout Newerowskoi gained at length,
With gallant cheer but 'minished strength,
The shelter of the neighbouring wood,
The while his soldiers marched in blood,—
Bravely the rout he reined!—
His lion-like retreat made good,
And shunning—gallantly withstood;
And yielding—still maintained!—
At length Smolensko's friendly gate
Preserved him from impending fate.
XXXI.
On the Emperor's fête-day this befell—'T was celebrated thus full well!—
126
To honour such a dawn of fame!
The army, silent and unmoved,
Stood round the mighty chief they loved,
As though their acclamations vain
Where solitudes so boundless reign,
Must perish on the barren plain.
Hush! loud artillery ploughs the air—
A proud salute rolls deafening there;
But darkly th' Emperor's brow is bent—
“Full ill mid Russian wilds is spent
French ammunition so!”
And Ney and brave Murat reply,
With triumph in the enkindling eye,
“'Tis Russia's powder! booty high,
That doth the outringing peal supply,
Made thine brief hours ago!”
Meanwhile from dark Smolensk's strong wall
For aid doth Newerowskoi call.
The appeal of that profound distress
Makes Barclay to the rescue press,
To bring the endangered chief redress,
Whose columns, more than half destroyed,
Shew many a grimly yawning void.
While those that have escaped, display
Full many a wound from that stern day!—
Seemed these preserved by miracle
While thick and fast their comrades fell!
127
XXXII.
Now Gaul's great mareschall—Naples' king—Gainst doomed Smolensk their numbers bring,
And Poniatowski comes to aid,
And fiercely, soon the assault is made;
At once, into the endangered town
Raefskoi for its defence is thrown;
A strong division he commands
To reinforce the exhausted bands;
While Barclay and Bagration speed
To help it in this hour of need!—
Smolensk—built on two hills that rear
Their heads o'er Dnieper's stream—rolled near—
(The while their sides escarped appear
Reflected in the waters clear,)
When first to sight its turrets gleam
Might well two separate Cities seem—
Divided by that river fair,
But linked by two strong bridges there.
XXXIII.
'Tis the Olden Town whose towers ariseLeft hand the stream, in threatening guise;
Huge walls—yet in some portions found
Dilapidated—flawed—unsound—
With haughty aspect, gird it round,
As though storm-proof they stood;
128
Four thousand toises the antique fence
Embraces in circumference—
Fair measurement and good!—
Five-and-twenty feet in height,
Eighteen thick, frowned this aright;
Thirty towers there rose in sight,
And lent this ancient wall their might
'Gainst man—years—storm—and flood!—
Giants!—still each, despite Time's rents,
Gives, with defiance, haughtiest hints,—
Enormous, each bold front presents,
And flanking stern the battlements,
Might tame the assailant's mood!—
Mark! frowns the Citadel beside—
Bastions five proclaim its pride,
Yet wot I 'tis a work uncouth—
Slight its boast of strength in sooth!
This doth Orcha's road command—
Would 'twere mightier to withstand!—
Here too gapes—a gloomy fosse—
Dark, and deep, and wide across.
Some works are seen in the outward space—
But there,—the suburbs of the place,
The leaguering lines shall aid!
For these approaching all too near,
The walls that skreen that town appear,
And well shall for the assailants rear
A friendly-favouring shade!
129
Fence from that fast—that frequent fire—
The troops besieged, in warlike ire,
Shall still oppose to the efforts dire
And desperate, 'gainst them made!
XXXIV.
And now, to aid the attacked yet more,New reinforcements hurrying pour
To that brave town distressed;
Prince Charles of Mecklenburgh appears
With veteran ranks of grenadiers—
Bagration these, with boding fears,
Hath sped and onwards pressed!
Napoleon now, from wooded height,
Strains eagerly his wistful sight;—
What mean those columns, long and dark,
His eyes experienced, promptly mark—
From whence with thousand—thousand beams,
Far pours the light in bickering streams,
Though they themselves so shadowy look!—
Their arms flash back the sun-born stroke!
His haughty heart with transport shook!
Ha! is't not them?—'Tis them at last!—
They press—they haste—urged on full fast—
The glorious crisis is at hand!
They rush—they race along the land!
De Tolly's host—Bagration's too—
Their pace seemed hurried till they flew!
Bursts from the Invader's breast a cry
Of martial rapture—strong and high.
130
They spring—they flash—like founts of flame!
His eyes with maddening triumphs shine—
“Aha!—quail throne, and tower, and shrine!—
Behold it Heaven!—Earth!—hail the sign!—
Hear!—Powers infernal and divine!—
Russia and Russians!—they are mine!—
I have them in my hold!
Russia and Russians! bend and bow!—
Welcome to wrack and ruin now:—
Crouch!—Alexander!—tremble thou!
And veil thy pale and discrowned brow—
Thy kingdom's days are told!”
XXXV.
And still he marks those lengthening lines—And still his eye with triumph shines;
His towering boast with rapture's voice,
(While every feeling doth rejoice!)
Unconsciously repeats he yet—
Then sternly shakes with dreadful threat—
Glorying, his awful hand on high,
With mien inspired with victory!
Aye!—shakes it stern on high, as though
Denouncing thus the approaching foe!—
Yon mighty masses—near, more near—
Draw on, and yet more vast appear!
Pressed fast and faster, on they come—
Hark!—hear his words of glorious gloom,
“Russia and Russians!—to your doom!”—
131
Right to Smolensk these troops advance;
Once more he utters forth his boast—
“Welcome, proud Armies! found and lost!”—
And now Napoleon hopes to see
These armies of his enemy
Pass through the city—leave her gates—
(Predestined by the unpitying Fates),
And underneath her walls deploy;—
He stands, all terrible with joy,
Eager to crush and to destroy!
Then passed he prompt along the line—
To each doth well his place assign;
Murat and Poniatowski fall
Back from that closely-menaced wall;
The borders of the wood they gain
And leave a vast and open plain
That stretches broad, this wood between
And rolling Dnieper's watery scene.
Behind the place where thus were led
Their hosts, with swiftly measured tread,
Frowned threatening precipices dread.
Defiles of aspect stern were there,
But no retreat His thoughts can share
Who now hath bade his legions be
Prepared for joy and victory!
XXXVI.
No foe bursts issuing from the gates—In vain the impatient Leader waits;
132
To-morrow shall his hope fulfil!
He will not doubt—he will not droop!—
To-morrow shall fulfil his hope!
Night falls!—her shadowy-wavering veil
Shrouds tree, and tower, and down, and dale;
He will not fear—it shall not fail!
Meantime Bagration—sagely swayed
By him who well his counsels weighed,
The astucious, grave De Tolly—speeds
From thence—to Eillnia straight proceeds—
And there his powerful legions leads,
While Barclay occupies the town—
So long in wild disorder thrown—
Remains he solely there awhile,
To baulk the Gaul of hoped-for spoil;
The magazines he emptieth all—
These foes shall find but roof and wall!—
And then prepares he with his might
To cover fairly and aright
The Inhabitants' well-ordered flight!—
XXXVII.
Napoleon!—ere night's shadowy reign,Lingered thy last look on that plain!
That field—which the opening eye of day
Shall mark all crowned with war's array—
Magnificently dread display!
Already to his sight it seemed—
While haughtily and high he dreamed—
133
Stars that shall ne'er know night or cloud.
That field—to his high hope unbent—
That field outblazed the firmament!—
The morrow came—its earliest gleam
Woke him from many a victory dream;—
How doth his eye impatient strain
To glimpse the glories of that plain;
A broad and vacant space he sees,
But traversed by the passing breeze!—
Where are the hosts that should be there—
Where shines the matchless vision fair?
Where towers the dread battalia?—where?
'Tis silence all and vacancy!
The breeze that wanders fresh and free—
No banners spreads in pride afar
The meteored blazonry of war!
The sunbeam laughs—not now it strays
On arms that gild it where it plays;
Shivered and sent a thousand ways;—
No pageant shines out, proud and fair—
No sun-emblazed battalia there!
And Belliard, who hath late pursued
A band of Cossacks, fierce and rude,
Soon ends this dark incertitude.
The gallant soldier had afar
Beheld the march of Russia's war!
Beheld the darkened road that led
To Moscow, from Smolensk o'erspread
134
Like earth-bowed mountains' gathered mass!—
If mountains could be bent and bowed
To roll o'er earth—a chain of cloud
Yet bright with lustres unforgot
Of sunbeams on their summits shot!
XXXVIII.
The truth shines clearly out—'tis done!—The day o'er-arching hope is gone,
Yet sets but in some future Sun—
But in some future sun it sets!
Hence—hence with wishes and regrets!
The glorious hour so oft delayed
Shall yet smile back their lowering shade;
And when it comes 't will brightlier fall,
For these anticipations all!—
These disappointments—that but higher
Through hate, through wonder, doubt, and ire,
Shall fan the soul-exalting fire!
Now would the Emperor strike a blow,
Decisive for the leaguered foe,
And instantly and well subdue
Smolensk, and force his passage through.
Murat—he, th' ardent-souled, the inspired—
War's worshipper—by glory fired,—
Yet combated this passion's heat—
With reasonings sought this rage to meet—
Nay! flung himself at th' Emperor's feet—
135
To pause—to ponder—and to weigh!
At least, his hurried schemes to scan
Ere yet he fixed his final plan.
In vain!—fired—maddened—rapt—o'erwrought—
A tempest every whirling thought,—
The unbending Leader would not hear—
His scheme is fixed as rock and sphere!
No prayers can shake that purpose strong—
No pleading—though from angel's tongue!—
Moscow alone he saw—alone
The sun for him on Moscow shone;
He will not change—he will not yield—
His choice is made—his doom is sealed!
XXXIX.
Murat from forth the presence came—Ashes his lip—his brow on flame;—
He mounts his steed—his steed bounds high—
Struck by the sharp spur suddenly!
It chanced that not far off from there—
Left hand the Dnieper's current fair—
Near where that bank the wavelet kissed,
(Where 't was not crushed to spray and mist—)
Whence Belliard scanned, with sorrowing eye,
The movements of the enemy,
A formidable battery rose,
To which the deep, determined foes
Two yet more fearful did oppose.
136
Huge guns lay shattered on the ground—
Their carriages forced back—apart;
Each instant saw them spring and start!—
'T was toward this dread volcanic roar
The infuriate chief distracted bore
His rapid and his reckless course,—
There in mid-uproar stayed his horse;
And there, as storm and fire poured balm,
The raging King at once grew calm!
There stands he—fearless of the shock—
As hewn from out the living rock—
So firm—so stern—so fixed—so still—
Comes yet no friendly shot to kill!
So seems it oft, when fate 's defied,
The courted death-bolts swerve aside,
As Heaven's pale Angel paused before
That front the soul lives, lightening o'er
With such intense and searching might—
The Deathless starts to light and sight!—
Till even the mortal clay—th' o'er-warmed—
Seemed spiritually changed—transformed—
The uplifted dart falls powerless there—
It dares not smite, though 't would not spare!
It dares not strike!—the immortal breaks
Too much through the elements it wakes,
And part of its proud being makes!
Too much appear—the Soul—the Frame—
As one—divideless—and the same!—
137
XL.
Still thickening round the deathbolts showered—Still heaven and earth dark-mingling lowered!—
Belliard—right faithful follower—stands
Beside his King with close-clasped hands.
“Turn! sire!—The death that waits thee here—
That glory lacks—to thee so dear!”
The King's sole answer to his prayer
Was further still to fling him there!
Death feared he never! but he feared
The wreck of one his heart revered—
The failure of their hope—their aim—
The death of Honour—Victory—Fame!
Yet others now, with wondering grief,
Clustered behind their desperate chief;
Then to his train the monarch turns—
His eye, with flash unwonted, burns,
With lurid light and sombre fire:
“Back all!—I bid ye hence retire!
Leave sovereign misery to expire!”
He bade in vain—not one would part—
True followers of his Lion Heart!
Leal—loyal to the death they stand—
A desperately-devoted band!
Their generous stubbornness of zeal
Strikes to his heart with deep appeal;
He turns him from that dangerous scene
With treble anguish in his mien;—
138
With torturing, stern self-violence:
Resigns the hope of dying there
For fear of life and worst despair,
And flings him from Destruction's arms
As from a paradise of charms!
XLI.
Now rages terribly aroundThe assault, with deafening storms of sound—
With hideous fury, far and fast,
Death rides upon the blackening blast!
The wingèd War still hurrying went
From battery dread to battlement!
Fierce bursts the loud-exploding bomb,
To scoop at once the yawning tomb.
Death-blow and death-bed, wild and wide,
Wait those who its stern shocks betide;
Let these doubt not that they shall have
At once destruction—and a grave!
These winged volcanoes of the air
Their slaughterous way still shattering tear
Through all that dares oppose them there!—
Thick round a shadowing shroud is spun
Of volumed smoke, that hides the sun,
While deafening bursts the astounding din
From sudden, roaring culverin.
The batteries spread stern havoc round—
Still groans and shakes the troubled gound—
139
And scatter fate on every side!
Those cannons pour their ruinous wrath
Along the crushed and blighted path,
And parch the air with red-hot breath—
Tremendous Telegraphs of Death!
Thus each to each shall make appear
Their dreadful purpose full and clear!—
Thus foes to foes breathe free and fair
Their certain message of despair;
The City's mighty walls unbowed,
Enveloped frown through sulphurous cloud;
The amazing thickness of those walls
Resists the storm that round them falls!
The thick-showered shot in vain assails—
The enormous mass o'er all prevails!
As hills on their foundations stand,
So stood that adamantine band!
XLII.
Still to the attack the French return—The sallying hosts they backward spurn;
These must precipitate their pace,
Or reach no more their sheltering place!
All perished that could gain not then
Their massy sheltering walls again!—
Behind the assaulting columns too,
That desperately the attack renew,—
A hideous trail of blood and death
Marks out too sternly well their path;—
140
The encircling hills—the scene that crowned—
The embattailled hosts, with bannered pride,
Thick ranged, the desperate conflict eyed;
Their bold companions' acts surveyed—
Felt as they shared each effort made—
Gloried in every gallant feat
That shewed their generous valour's heat;—
And acted o'er each deed in thought
Their brethren of the battle wrought;
All breathless there they gazing stood,
And watched that scene of strife and blood.
XLIII.
But when they marked those dauntless menRush to the fierce attack again,
And yet again—renew—repeat
An hundred times each warlike feat;
Saw them wade on through seas of gore
Which their own veins empurpled pour,—
With still increasing valour's might,
Still waxing fiercer in the fight—
As though the Souls of all that feel,
Cloathed in their Forms, fought doubly well;—
Revived in their proud persons there
And gave such bravery's double share!
Till every Death but lent more Life
To those survivors in the strife!—
Then—then rose mountain high their mood!
A thousand fevers fired their blood!
141
Till into maddening fury lashed,
That rage around with seven-fold strength,
Their answering souls o'erflowed at length;
Th' enthusiastic shouts they send—
The troubled air must strike and rend
With tumult that shall sound afar,
Through all the bellowing blasts of war;
They shout—they clap their hands aloud—
Glorious applause and homage proud!
XLIV.
They hear!—the dreadless warriors hear!And well such sounds may bless and cheer!—
Deep recompense for all they bear!—
Aye! to the very dying there!
These snatched one moment more of breath—
Their parting souls half conquered death!
Paused ere they took their distant flight,
Nor died till blest with that delight!
Then dying, even appeared to be
Of that Fame-crowned Felicity!
And those reserved for other lot
Ne'er that sublime acclaim forgot!
That mighty admiration's gush
Oft on their raptured souls shall rush;
No celebration, pomp, nor pride,
Could e'er with th' outburst there have vied!
142
After those triumphs round them shed;—
Those stormy plaudits of the heart,
Near which all praise should seem but art!
That flooding Feeling's cry,—the first,
Spontaneous—simultaneous burst!—
While seemed in that live sea spread wide,
Posterity personified!
Now solemn night—spread deepening fast,
And o'er that scene her dimness cast.
END OF CANTO IV.
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