The Maiden of Moscow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Pass we the toilsome march and long,
Outwearying oft the staunch and strong,
Though fired with hope and pride.
Pass we details of martial kind,—
How those o'erwhelming hosts combined,
In various parts divide,
Stretched o'er a wide and sweeping space,
Beneath their separate chiefs they trace
Their stern, momentous way!—
In mighty masses on they roll,
Portions of that o'erpowering whole
No bulwarked fence shall stay!
Pass we the plans, their place that find
Within the conqueror's master-mind,
Those wonder-working schemes designed,
That Time must yet unveil!—
And pass we, too, those hardships dire
That tame the mettled soldier's fire,
That well may make him quail,—
The horrors of destructive war
Already frown unfolding far.
Confusion, with her cloudy hands,
Spreads discord 'midst those vasty bands.

But pass we this and all,—
And pause not till, on Niemen's banks,
We hail the warrior-emperor's ranks,
Whose legioned throngs appal!

II.

From various points, in different parts,
Distributed by skilful arts,
The columned lines advance;
And troop by troop, and train by train,
The rolling river's boundary gain!—
On! on!—imperial France!
Westphalia's King his squadrons guides
Toward Grodno, near the river's tides,
There thousands shake the strand.—
Straight, to a point—Pilony named,
Speeds, Italy!—thy viceroy famed—
With those of his command!
The mighty Sovereign, too, moves near,—
The old Neimen's glistening currents clear,
And he hath made his stand
Near Nogaraiski, close beside
Those hurrying waters that divide
The far-extended land!
Distant from Kowno this may be,
'Tis said, perchance some fair leagues three;
And here the ambitious chief
Paused for awhile in pondering mood,
And gazed full deeply on the flood;
Yet not for long there gazing stood,—
Such moods in him were brief!

III.

It was a fine and startling scene
That asked the observant eye, I ween,—
The scene that spread developed there
Serene, yet rugged—stern, yet fair;
With all the adjuncts strange that made
Its magic picture, full displayed.
The advancing column's foremost line
Had reached the river's serpentine,
And far and wide the flash of arms
Gleamed from the dense and serried swarms;
The presence of their terrors gave
But brighter chrystal to the wave
That rolled in quiet beauty on,
And sparkling flowed,—and dimpling shone,—
Belting the land with silvery zone.
Beneath the o'er-canopying shade
Of forests huge these waters strayed;—
Huge forests on the Russian side,
That stood arrayed in all their pride,
And frowning stooped, and feathering swept,
Till in those waves their boughs were dipp'd.
'Tis morning's young and opening hour,
But where Pilwisky's forests tower,
Still ancient night seems throned in gloom,
And daylight hovering round his tomb!
Such crowding shadows there amassed
A dimness o'er the dawning cast,
But bickering arms, now broad and bright,
Give aid to that upspringing Light;

And, spite the close trees' sombre screen,
Shoot many a quivering ray between.

IV.

Roll—roll! bright river—doubly fair
For that Portentous Presence there!
Roll—roll unto the expecting main,—
(Where rivers pour themselves like rain)—
Without the semblance of a stain!
Flow to the Baltic's sounding deep,
Where merged, thy rippling waves shall sleep!
To Courland's gulph thy course pursue,
As track of feathered arrow true:
The term to which thy currents flow,
The armed thousands that behold thee know!
The end thou seek'st is stamped and shown,—
Ah! who shall tell them of their own?

V.

Where—where speeds on, with sound and gleam,
That mightier-rolling human stream?—
Those living waves of power and pride—
Oh! whither wends their hurrying tide?
Higher than e'er rose spring or flood,
Now rise the torrents of their blood—
Where is the term to which they tend?
Where is their limit and their end?
Where is the goal to which they rush?
Prophetic voice of Sorrow,—hush!

Not long—I said, the Emperor's glance
Was fixed—a momentary trance!—
He starts from wandering thoughts' light sway,
Subjects of heavier charge to weigh;
And now new-strung to high resolves,
On him, by choice, the task devolves,
In front of those battalioned ranks,
Of reconnoitring Niemen's banks,—
Sudden he wheeled his charger round
On that uneven, slippery ground;
Sharp turns the steed with headlong bound—
Which hints from threatening spurs provoke—
With faultering step—with floundering stroke
(The while the faithless girths gave way)—
The War-Horse struggled to obey—
Then felt the rough ground fail at need,—
His footing missed—that mettled steed
Of gallant blood and generous breed,
And horse and rider fell,—
In face of all those thousands there
They fell!—that mightiest conqueror!—where—
Where bides he, Glory's loftiest heir,
Whose praise all nations swell!—
Where bides he?—prostrate in the dust
Before his hosts,—his pride—his trust—
That served his 'hests so well!

VI.

“Ill auguring sign and omen dark,”
A voice exclaimed, though none might mark

Whence issued the accents stern!
(Fast round confusion gathering spread)
“Dire boding chance and portent dread,
A Roman would return!”
The Emperor's eye flashed living fire—
Looks fraught with proud disdain and ire!—
Once more he seized the rein—
Short space for such mischance he halts,
Full suddenly and swift he vaults
Into his seat again!
An hundred wreaths of foam make white
His charger's neck and harness bright,
His smoke of fiery breath
Rolls from his nostrils on the air,
He flashes, shooting here and there,
And lightening plays, as when ye bare
Your sabre from its sheath!

VII.

The task resumed is soon fulfilled—
The experienced eye, well practised—skilled—
But brief delay requires.
The recognition made, ere long
Napoleon, with his circling throng,
Unto his tent retires.
At set of sun—at fall of day,
The word is given which all obey.
Soon preparation's stir is shewn,
Three bridges o'er the stream are thrown—
Three bridges span the indignant stream
That murmurs as in troubled dream!—

Their arch the chafed tide flows beneath,
That arch shall waft o'er strife and death!—
But roll, thou stream, crisp'd,—ruffled,—roll;
Thou and the Gaul shall gain your goal;
And run that course—Heaven's 'hests controul!—

VIII.

And soon—at evening's hour embark
In shallop light—in fragile ark—
A company of miners first
(While thousands for the adventure thirst),
And push from friendly shores their boat
That almost seems afraid to float.
But swift they take their noiseless way,
Like tigers stealing on their prey,
Nor meet resistance nor delay—
They cross the water's glittering path,—
Vaunt-couriers they of wrong and wrath,
Heralds of ruin and of woe;
But on they hurry—be it so!
And now their little voyage done,
The haven of their hopes is won,
The foremost of the venturous band
Hath reached the bank—hath leapt to land,
And there triumphant takes his stand
Upon the opposing, hostile strand.

IX.

And did no earthquake rushing rend
That soil on which they dared descend,

And shattering, heave the insulted ground
To yawning anarchy around?
When thus the first French foot was placed—
The first step of invasion traced
On the earth aggrieved on which they burst
With bold audacious haste accursed—
When this fell stride was ta'en—the first!
And doth no ambushed foeman start
To strike the aggressors to the heart?
No hidden ranks upspringing, bare
Their sheathless sabres in the air,—
A steely barrier threatening there?
Where hides the phalanxed patriot host
That these should greet with stern accost,
Defenders of their menaced soil—
That back should make these foes recoil?
None—none appear—'tis silence all:
No voice—no breath—no foot's light fall—
Of theirs ev'n the echoes seem to cease.—
All—all on the outraged shore is peace—
War is but on their side!
There spreads his dreadful pomp of gloom—
There gleam his shows of threatening doom—
Gorgeous o'er-gildings of the tomb—
There frowns his fearful pride!

X.

'Tis silence all, and silence still—
Hush! did the leafy forests thrill?—

Awakes a sudden gale?
A rustling noise!—a stealing sound!—
It deepens—Ha!—do foes surround,
Mustering in twilight pale?
A lonely apparition starts
Before that knot of gallant hearts!
Singly this seeks the strand,
A solitary horseman rides
From out the wood, and dauntless guides
His steed to where they stand.
Sole Representative is he
Of Russia's giant monarchy,
Her Empired strength from Sea to Sea,
Her people and her prince!
That Cossack chief alone appears,
His brow a calm composure wears,
His words and looks betray no fears—
Emotions slight evince!

XI.

And thus his voice the silence broke,
Thus challenged he the band and spoke,
“Who are ye, Strangers,—Whence?—declare!”
Answered the foremost soldier there,
“Frenchmen! and straight from France!”—
Challenged to challenger replies
With voice unshaken by surprise,
With like unquailing glance.
I guess it was a wond'rous scene,
Those men—a river roll'd between

The army and their band—
That single Cossack chief before
The invaders of his country's shore—
His violated land!
The invaders clustering in their pride
So thick along the opposing side
Where now they make their stand!
And still there keeps undauntedly
His place, with bearing firm and free,
And reins his rugged steed,—
That warrior lofty and alone,
And asks again, in echoing tone,
Their errand and their need:—
“Wherefore to Russia have ye sped,
Wherefore her confines dare ye tread,
I charge ye, tell aright?”—
“To conquer ye!—Make Wilna ours—
Pluck Poland from your tyrant's powers!—
And crush his sovereign might!—
For this to Russia's realm we come,
For this we beat the hoarse harsh drum,
And tread our march sublime;
For this on Russia's soil we stand
With banner and with battle-brand,
And brave your barbarous clime!”

XII.

Off dashed the desert's savage son
Like lightning-flash, just seen and gone,

Right to the covering woods he hies—
Fast, fast as fire from flint he flies,
Then deeply, darkly disappears
Where many a tree its shelter rears.
The dubious soldiers there amazed,
A moment mute with wonder gazed,
Then flushed with sudden fury seek
Their hate upon his head to wreak;
Their loaded guns with reckless ire
Into those sheltering woods they fire,
Loud clangs the sharp report;
But when these echoes died away,
Silence resumed her perfect sway—
No answering peals retort!
Thus by these random shots, and vain,
Began that dire and dread campaign!—
Napoleon, furious, heard from far
This first faint signal of the war.
Perchance that soul so long unbent
Thrill'd to some dark presentiment—
Some antepast of gloom and ill
Shook even his world-defying will!
Or it might be that only there
Awoke a keen prudential care.

XIII.

Howe'er it was, his piercing eye
Flashed fierce with angry brilliancy;
His accents rang more sharp and stern,
All round might well his rage discern—

His firm-set lip and lowering brow
Portended wrath's wild outbreak now;
But soon that brow was smoothed once more,
That aspect tranquil as before;
Whate'er the emotions in his breast,
He could command them unto rest;
And countless duties now demand
The o'er-ruling mind—the out-tracing hand!—
Three hundred warriors straight they send
Those spanning bridges to defend,
That Niemen's watery bar bestride—
Unto that river's Russian side;
Then from the valleys and the wood
Pours soon the mighty human flood.
In silence to the borders they
Advance, and there assembling stay,
Commanded, arms in hand, to spread
Their limbs upon the earth's rude bed!—
Midst reeds and sedge their couch, behold,
Wet with abundant dews and cold.
Fires are forbidden through the Night.
No matter! Morn shall yet rise bright,
And smile away her wrongs and blight,
Fast kindling back through ev'ry vein
Suspended warmth's glad cheer again.

XIV.

And be their slumbers calm and deep,
Even though thus sword in hand they sleep.

A weighty hour 'tis true draws nigh—
Not on their heads its charge shall lie
Of stern responsibility!
The morning slowly dawns at last—
The night with all its shades is past.
Three hundred paces from the flood
Napoleon's tent conspicuous stood
Upon the loftiest height;
It held dominion o'er the scene,
And where its snowy bulwarks lean
Fell first the streaks of light;
Within that canvass citadel,—
Oh! who shall ever dream or tell
What mighty dreams then wrought,
What rapt emotions rose and fell
With withering ebb—with gathering swell—
An universe of thought!
Oh!—who or what shall ere make clear
The purposes portentous there
That started into birth—
Where through the watches of the night,
He dwelt—the terrible in might—
The Thunderer of the earth!

XV.

Tamer and Trampler of the world!—
Was slumber round thy spirit furled
Through those long mortal hours?—
Surely the tempest of thy mind
Then left thee not to rest resigned,
While dark the future lowers?—

The destiny thyself hath bade
And beckoned forth,—and moulding made,—
Claims mastery o'er thy soul;
So they who call up from the dead
Mysterious Forms of wrath and dread,
May not those forms controul!
Thy self-appointed hour is come,—
Now—thou'rt dragged onward by thy doom!—

XVI.

The morn is ris'n, the East is red;
Up, soldiers!—from your clay-cold bed,
Your dewy couch beside the wave,
Chill as the precincts of the grave!
Up, soldiers! scattered thousands!—rise!—
The day is new-launched in the skies!
The signal now their leaders give,
Hills—valleys—woods—are all alive—
Earth to existence seems to start
With bounding pulse and throbbing heart,
So densely throng'd is every part;
And while away the night is driven
She lifts a human face to heaven!
So close, so crowded—gathering fair—
The multitudes and myriads there!
Hath the risen sun created now
Strange semblance of himself below?—
Such splendour breaks on every side
From bristling arms shed far and wide;
Earth beams!—rays seem to dance and dart
From every point—through every part.

A dazzling deluge all of light—
A starriness to thought and sight!

XVII.

Another signal, and they move
These hours to seize and to improve;
In three close columns march they forth
To shake the stout heart of the North!
They move in masses deftly trained,
And soon the extremest verge is gained.
Straightened and narrowed, now they shrink
To chain of firm though finer link,
And meetly lengthening less and less,
Across those bridges three they press;
Th' ardour of expectation hot,
And mad impatience—mastered not—
Now works confusion dire!
Each, eager-wild that shore to gain—
To that new country to attain—
Precedence would acquire!
But checked are soon those tumults all—
In order back the stragglers fall—
Well-practised to obey!
And lo! the Sovereign Form!—the adored!—
He, at whose feet their hearts outpoured
Throb still—their leader and their lord!—
There stands and points their way!

XVIII.

De Courcy, how thy breast thrilled high
Beneath that all-commanding eye,
With looks benignant fixed
On that vast rapture-kindling throng,
That hailed with universal tongue
Their worshipped chief their ranks among,
And felt within their hearts grow strong,
Hope, pride, and transport mixed!—
And he—the monarch's monarch!—he
The arbiter of worlds!—swelled free
His heart with joy amain?—
When thus 'twas fixed—'twas fate—'twas done—
Thus passed the Russian Rubicon—
The first dread step was ta'en!

XIX.

The stormy passion of the war,
Burning and mighty when afar,
Then doubly mighty rose
Within De Courcy's breast of flame,
Maddening for earth-surmounting fame—
When thus 'twas visioned close!
And now those countless legions thread
The unbounded forests deep and dread—
Their onward path they trace;
Already much seemed conquered then
(Though they have grappled not with men!)—
Clime,—Distance,—Time,—and Space!

Is't buoyed by thoughts of triumph high,
Or stirred with sense of dangers nigh,
Or racked with sharp anxiety,
Yon mightiest chieftain rides?
For, sudden with impatience keen—
Th' Emperor,—while varying shews his mien—
As he on lightnings launched had been,
His rushing steed,—dense trees between,
With dreadless hand well guides!

XX.

How flies that steed, as thousand wings
Lent fluttering aid—he bounds and springs,
And rakes the Russian soil, as though
To prove the presence of her foe—
Ploughs deep the bosom of the land,
As though to bid her understand
Her fell Destroyer is at hand,
The unpitying and the stern!
He flies along the echoing waste,
Half swallowing in his maddened haste
The far horizon, faintly traced
'Twixt those deep shades full close-enlaced,
Where sunrise-splendours burn.
He gallops fierce—he gallops far—
As blown on by the breath of War,—
Swept thwart that hostile soil!—
A glancing meteor seems that form,
Ruffling the earth into a storm,
To gaze ev'n grew a toil;

So rapidly his steps of speed,
Like thunder-shower's mid-drops, succeed
Fast,—thick—nor pause, nor fail—
He seemed as though he made his track
The hurricane on-driven rack,
And galloped on the gale!

XXI.

Draws rein that mighty rider now!
Less troubled spreads his breadth of brow,
Less troubled shews his face!
With speed subdued—with tightened rein
He traverses the widening plain,
Nor more resumes the race!
Hark!—whence that sound the echoes bore,
Deepening, full like to batteried roar
From loud artillery sent!
It gains and gathers on the sense,
And fills the hearers with suspense—
Suspense with longing blent!
The audience gathered there was such
As sound of distant fray could touch,
Far more than finest strains
Could e'er shake gentler hearts with might
Of the over-kindlings of delight,
When pleasure hath its pains!—
They drink those distant sounds with joy—
Oh!—strange, stern luxury—to destroy!
Dark, dreadful sport—to slay!

Their very steeds that music cheers!
The war-horse shews with up-shot ears,
And starting veins, that he too hears
That sound of deepening sway!

XXII.

It groans—it grumbles—distant still—
How strongly thousand bosoms thrill
In unison of power!
Symphonious with those murmuring sounds
How many a heart impatient bounds,
And pants for combat's hour!
Lowers darkly Lithuania's sky,
A load upon the wildered eye
It seems to brood and rest.
The inhospitable Clime doth greet,
With savage wrath, the approaching feet
Of its Appalling Guest!—
Muttering and groaning, swell and fall—
Distinctly heard and marked by all—
Those tones that hold their souls in thrall,
Seems the atmosphere o'erspread with pall,—
Surcharged with gathering gloom.
And is't—oh! is't War's hoarse delight—
Is't then a field of distant fight—
The ordeal of men's measured might
At Battle's bar of doom?
The majesty of Darkness drear
Seems on the horizon to appear,

The horizon swarth and dun!
Winds rise—Earth gasps—clouds wildly race—
Seems Nature covering up her face,
While th' elements are lashed apace
To rage whe r Storm is swallowing Space,—
Where gloom upclimbs to pride of place—
Shadow hath struck the sun!
It is the thunder-tempest's birth—
Rebuked appears the trembling Earth,
E'en like her lowliest things!—
As though in anguish of affright,
Hither and thither chased for flight—
Th' Air spreads her sweeping wings!

XXIII.

All th' Atmosphere seems like a veil
To fragments torn, which soon must fail,
Or, snatched from earth, divide,—
Thus leave her in her pale distress,
In helpless, shuddering nakedness,—
And, rack'd from side to side!—
The unearthly hubbub gathers round,—
With deafening tumults heaved profound,—
Nought else may there be heard!
Men marked their comrade's lips move there
Of murmured speech, yet not aware—
Vain—vain command's loud word!
The storm of those disastrous hours,
That shook their proud embattailled powers,—

Eclipsed their pomp with gloom,—
Proved, in its rushing rule and rise,
E'en mighty as their enterprise—
Tremendous as their doom!

XXIV.

Motion'd the Almighty King of Kings:
His mission'd ministers their wings
Stretched trembling to obey!—
The spirits of the ravening storm
Glass on the firmaments their form,—
And Sound—Sound—Sound—their Sway!
That blast earth's ear shall rend and rive!—
Dread charioteers! how swift they drive,—
('Till Heaven, with the uproar, rocks alive)—
Their clattering chariots on!—
The mountains tremble at their touch,—
Their Ruler's might they well avouch;—
Hell's gates have open flown!
To close once more with crack of doom,
While fiends rage worse in murkier gloom—
Till fiercelier agonies consume—
From cause to them unknown!

XXV.

Th' armed spirits Night's lashed boundaries curl—
Their banners furious they unfurl;—
Rack all—till rest is gone!
They breathe!—and maddening oceans whirl
Leviathan to Death,—and hurl
Huge navies down undone!—

They speak!—and the unborn ages start!
Life quivering—stirs Death's mouldered heart!—
The veil of Mystery rends apart—
From Space to Space strange terrors dart,
All under their fierce yoke shall smart,
Since they Heaven's 'hest have won.
The Immense seem'd with thy power o'erflowed,
Oh Thou, who hast in heaven abode!—
The Eternal Presence flashed abroad,
The Unvisionably Great!—
Showered down with fulness of controul
Upon the silence of the soul—
These shadowings of thy state!

XXVI.

Heaven's Arch-Omnipotencies crowned—
(By wondering,—shuddering systems owned)—
Through crushed creations streamed!
Space boomed!—Hark! the elemental groans!—
The wrench of Nature's thunderous zones!—
The shock of Worlds—the wreck of Thrones—
The crash of Gods—it seemed!—
Oh! Marvellous of Might!—art thou
Destroying or creating now
Ten thousand worlds at once?
Such throes of Nature's anguish wake—
While answering she must shrink, and quake,—
(Seems even Her space-broad glass to break!)—
Thus challenged—thus o'erstrained to make
Reflection for response!—

King of the eternities—dread Lord!
By panting seraphim adored—
Buildest thou a new—more glorious throne,—
Fresh pinnacled on heights unknown,
With pyramids of worlds beneath;
Suns blazing forth their shadowy sheath;
Far pointing upwards, but in vain!
They cannot point such height, though fain—
They cannot point even to Thy Place,
Nor aid toward thy far-towering reign
To raise those thoughts that yearn amain—
To lift those eyes that seek thy trace!

XXVII.

Buildest thou another Throne in Heaven—
That thus the labouring space seems riven?
The prostrate, the all-adoring soul,
Faints, shrivelled, like a ruined scroll,
Where thy dread steps have trode!
The heaven of heavens seemed bared and bent;
Time—place—law—season—element
Appeared unmarshalled then, or blent,
To Chaos more magnificent,
Than fixed Creation shewed!—
All Fate's harmonious links seemed rent—
All spirit shrunk—to silence sent—
The annihilating awe that went

Through all its depths—its powers had spent—
Had crushed the Being Mercy lent,
Till the Universe was God!
Midst wrecks of these His works—His throne
Towered sole, self-shadowing, and alone!—
Let chaos or creation reign—
He rules—He rests—and shall remain!

XXVIII.

Such terrors and amazements thrill
Man's heart, and paralyse his will,—
When aught disturbs the equal flow
And attitude of things below;—
While high-wrought phantasies will sweep
To clouds of foam the spirit's deep,
Through such o'erwhelming hours!
'Tis then that ruin seems to break
O'er all, while shattering tempests wake,
And the awful scene o'erpowers.

XXIX.

De Courcy—who had ever stood
Possessed of calm, undaunted mood,
Through battle's hours of doom,—
Felt awed and troubled by the array
Of Nature's terrors, on that day
Of empire-circling gloom!
Thunders and lightnings, wind and rain,
Ravaged the Lithuanian plain,

And spread disorder through that host,
Of many a kingdom, pride and boast;—
The Giant Clouds appeared to bend,
And darkening earthwards to descend,
As though to bar and to oppose
The entrance of the country's foes!
Down to the very earth they seemed
To sweep and stoop—(while shrill winds screamed
Their dirge of dismal strain profound);—
They build their wavering wall around!—
Their floating fortress!—to defend
That threatened land they lower and bend!—
Seem the elements instinct with all
Man's patriot soul!—'gainst Russia's fall—
'Gainst Russia's ruin—wrong or thrall,
They march!—the scale descends!
All powers appear to lend their aid—
Hot—Cold—Moist—Dry—Cloud—Storm, and Shade—
Her Counsellors and her Friends!—
Now darker, vaster they appear—
Those covering clouds that frown more near—
More stern—more hideous—and more drear—
Like chains of mountains newly-formed—
Volcanic chains,—with levin warmed!—
These huge colossal clouds outspread,
And hide the fair sun's beaming head!
Disputing with that armèd force,
Which onwards speeds without remorse,
The ingress to that mighty realm
Which seems it they would sooner whelm,

And raze with ruin's worst—
Than leave to the Destroyer's hand,—
The tender mercies of his band—
To black defeat—to slavery's brand—
To anarchies accursed!

XXX.

The billowy banners of the clouds
Still spread—and spread—like nations' shrouds—
Still darts the electric flame!
The thunder's bellowing tumults roll—
Sound—sound—their clamours through the soul—
Its earthlier thoughts to tame!
Confusion 'mid those hosts was found,
That matched the wild disorder round—
Still growing—gathering fast;
Ten thousand horse—a brave array—
Like Cataracts on the battle-day,
Scattering among the foe dismay,
Now maddening meet the blast!
The dizzying lightnings in their eyes,
Still startle them with fierce surprise—
Driven wild with rage and fear,
They sideways swerve—bound—pause—advance—
Snort—champ—and, wildly plunging, prance—
Though checked by hands severe.

XXXI.

Ten thousand horse now breaking free,
From masters reft of mastery,

Fill earth with wrath and strife;—
Their necks with thunders cloathed and sheathed,
With hundred clouds of foam are wreathed:—
The very Storm they leave outbreathed
With fiercer Storm of Life!
Trampling the ground with earthquake tread—
Scattering their agony and dread
In foam and sweat around!—
They rampant glare, and furious fling!—
With desperation's flashing spring,
And fierce air-cleaving bound!
Ten thousand horse stern marshalled there,
Break through their ranks in brave despair,
All challenge!—all confound!—
Now scattered far and wide, they seem
Like broken shadows in a dream—
Where discords strange abound!—
Now clashed together, as above
Yon clouds in threatening masses move,—
Whence shoots the white-winged blaze:—
Their fiery spirits seem to dart—
From forth their living frames—and part,—
They phrenzied leap, and plunge, and start—
So stung with wild amaze!
While rattling 'gainst their sides I trow,
Their battle-harness shivereth—lo!
At times together serried so,
By blindfold chance—they dream they go
In headlong hurry on the foe,
And charge—and charge amain!

So oft in battle had they borne
Their lords on rushing wings of morn,
And shared their valorous vein!

XXXII.

Still instinct sways with wondrous force
The brave breast of the noble horse;
(As erst shewed one brave steed
In England's wars, of Lion fame—
Whose lord fell, mark'd by murderous aim—
Which, riderless and free,—yet came
To charge with those that charged, the same
As though urged on at need!—
And driven by hand,—heel,—heart—of flame,
Though none might guide nor lead!)
Still—still the bellowing tempest roars—
The rain in deluge-fury pours!—
No respite—no remorse!
Wilder and wilder o'er the plains,
Like meteors streamed their shooting manes—
Lava and levin in their veins—
Swept on those clouds of horse!

XXXIII.

With furious feet they scorn and spurn
The lightnings round that bickering burn;
Or flash the flashes back
With their outstarting eyes of flame,
That make those winged Destructions tame—
Illumining their track!

(Those lightnings quivering warm around
Seemed turning all the trembling ground
To pale, faint, aery rack).
Back they retort the skies' red rage,—
Their phrenzy nothing can assuage—
Blow back the staggered gale—
From their tempestuous nostrils spread—
Distended—dyed with deepest red!—
Thick fall their steps like hail;
While skies are lowering nearer earth,
These seem half maddening into mirth,—
As they would rake to ruinous birth
A thousand tempests more!
And pawing at the Firmament,
Break up the founts within it pent,
And dash them on Earth's shore!
The fountains of the Upper Deep—
The waters gathered on an heap—
Those Firmaments above!
Ne'er yet was shewn such wondrous sight—
From fixed foundations of Her might
Seem'd Nature's self to move!—
Never did yet such storm arise—
All elements—all energies—
Together battling wild!—
Those tides that, chiming hoarse and deep,
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis sweep;—
Compared with such were mild!

XXXIV.

How fared De Courcy through those hours—
(While nature reels—creation lowers)—
And his black steed Mountjoye?
I guess that jet-black steed was white
With foam of fury and affright,—
Dashed like pale surge o'er th' ebon night,
When th' Ocean stands up in his might,
And howls his stormy-voiced delight
Even to the o'ertaken stars aright,—
As tempest were his toy!
A thousand snowy foam-wreaths fleck
That proudly arched and vein-swoll'n neck:
His heaving glossy sides they deck,
And shower and shower,—and speck on speck,—
His native hue destroy.
Wrath, dread, and fierce excitement make
His eye-balls glare—his bold heart quake—
His mighty limbs fast quivering shake
In that vast throng and press!
But gentle, ev'n as gallant, he
Owns, with sagacious sympathy,
His master's loved caress;—
Responds with quick instinctive sense
To that kind hand's mute eloquence,
And long-familiar touch.
And still his swelling soul contains—
Subdues the madness in his veins—
Much soothed, though shaken much.

XXXV.

Keener the lightning's mazy wing—
More forked its desperate shining sting—
See flash to flash succeed!—
Ha! sped no bolt there, deadly hot?—
Terrific fire-ball fell there not?
Lo! sudden as from mortal shot,
Down falls that stricken steed!
De Courcy, springing from his seat,
Starts, nimbly active to his feet;—
A piteous sight his eyes must meet,—
A piteous sight to him!
The steed that bore him, like the blast,
Still the indefatigably fast—
Before him lies,—changed, grim, and ghast—
Comrade of all his battles, cast
Without a battle-death, at last
To earth, with stiff-stretched limb!
With proud eye filmed—death-clouded front,
That flaming once bore battle's brunt,
And blood-blazed nostril—pale!—
There lies his steed, for wolf and worm,
While, heedless all of howling storm,
And terrors strange that round them swarm,
He bends above that lifeless form
And makes his heavy wail!

XXXVI.

“Accursed be this intemperate clime—
Accursed the day and hour of time

That thus hath seen thee fall!
How many a mighty sun hath shone
To light our arms to glory on,
Since first where rolls the blue Garonne
I bade thee brook my thrall;
On Jena's plain, Mountjoye well served
My need, nor once from combat swerved,
Though desperate shock we bore.
At Austerlitz—the day of days!—
How didst thou fire the air with rays
Of rushing spirit—past all praise!—
And breath'st thou thus no more?
Then wounded wert thou, generous steed,
And much I mourn'd to see thee bleed,—
Yet forced to urge thee on;
While gallantly, with sore-gashed breast,
'Midst charging ranks my war-horse pressed,
And toiled till all was done!
And now mine own—my princely steed,
Must Lithuanian ravens feed
On thy unburied corse?”
He paused in wakening hope, for slow
Faint signs of life began to show
The earth-extended horse!

XXXVII.

Joy! he hath fallen upon the ground,—
Not scathed and struck to death, but stunned.
Behold him now revive!

His chest distends—his brave flanks heave—
He wins from Death's stern grasp reprieve:
He lives—and he shall live!
The stormy light before him gleams;
Labouring to live in sooth he seems,
While from the expanding nostril streams
Once more the breath of pride!
He struggles eagerly to rise;—
Rekindle flamingly his eyes,
And pants his fluttering side.
One plunge—he hath arisen now!
And all delightedly shalt thou,
De Courcy, with unclouded brow,
His noble back bestride!

XXXVIII.

Right well Mountjoye his master bears,
While evil many a captain fares,
Through that disastrous day:
That day whose influence dire destroyed
Full many a life—left many a void
In those proud ranks, they say!
Ten thousand horse that, maddening there,
Flung high their foam on earth and air,
Ere long sank down and died.
Came sudden change from sultriness
That overpowered with its excess,
To piercing cold, that pained no less,
Which vainly they defied.

Scant forage—wearying roads and ways—
Choaked, miry, deep,—with forced delays,—
Followed in those destructive days
By laboured march through waste and maze,
And course precipitate,—
Cold sapping rains, that chilled and cramped,—
(Their spirit tamed—their ardour damped—
While in those drear morasses swamped)
Determined soon their fate.
Weakened, and wasted, and o'er-worn,
They perished there in plight forlorn,
Exhausted and distressed.
Hundreds of thousands slowly slain,
By hardships dire and labours vain,
That soil unfriendly pressed.
Mowed down, whole squadrons there remain,
And load the dense-encumbered plain,
And earth and air infest!

XXXIX.

Nor think that man escaped!—Ah, no:
Proportion large he bears of woe,
And suffering and dismay.
Unnumbered stragglers, left to die
Beneath that harsh inclement sky,
In sad disorder stray.
Those who had sought, but sought in vain,
To toil on with the rest, are fain
(Hopeless their comrades to regain)—

To couch them on the clay.
Unsheltered—famished—lorn, and lost—
Poor fragments of a mighty host,
They choke with death the way.
Now rumours come that, fast and free,
The forces of the enemy
Fall back on every side:
As though resolved without a blow
To leave unto the hastening foe
Fair Lithuania's land, now shew
Resistance 'gainst the tide!
Now forward—forward—faster still
Doth urge their Chief, with word and will,
His Columns over plain and hill!—
Dense forests traversing in haste,
And pathless wilderness and waste—
With eager hope that yet they may,
Thus hurrying on, day after day,
The foe o'ertake and overthrow
By one decisive, glorious blow!

XL.

Now halt awhile the breathless ranks
On Wilia's march-opposing banks.
Fierce roars the river hurrying by—
By heavy rains swoln full and high;
Fragments of broken bridges torn,
Fast down the racing stream are borne;
In thousand shivered splinters rent—
Adown the current these are sent.

Indignant at the obstacle,
Above the torrent's howling swell
The Emperor's voice distinct arose;
Whose accents haste and wrath disclose—
Commanding instantly to cross
Those waves that wildly chafe and toss
(Without a passing moment's loss).
A squadron of his faithful Poles—
Rush'd to the strife their gallant souls!
They dashed at once, without a word,
Soon as that high command was heard—
Dash'd 'midst the chaos rough and rude
Of those wild waters unsubdued;
Driven 'midst the maddening eddying stream,
Where bright their towery helmets gleam,—
Where with redoubled life inspired,
With energies triumphant fired—
Fiercely their battle-chargers strive,
And through the deafening torrents drive!—
Seem too those maddened waves alive,
That bar their course and block their way,
Like panthers gnashing round their prey!—
Soon breathless, scattered, checked, o'erpower'd,
With dread destruction round them showered,
Those steeds, affrighted, quail;—
While their proud riders, more than brave—
Whom none may succour—none may save—
Warring 'gainst tides that bellowing rave,
Resistlessly assail—

Still battling with the o'erwhelming wave—
Still grappling with their storm-lashed grave—
Magnificently fail!—

XLI.

Hush!—'midst the terrors of that death,
Hear—hear them with their latest breath
Shout loud their leader's name!
No more they struggle—hope hath died!
They turn their heads of towering pride,
That once all dangers well defied,
Now half-engulphed within that tide,
To him—their star of fame!
“Live!—live the Emperor!” wild and high,
Yet quivering not with agony,
Rang their last bubbling shout and cry,—
While round their heads the foam-whirls fly,
Magnanimously calm they die—
They vanish like a dream!
Drop we the shadowing curtain here,
O'er Wilia's funeral scene and drear!