University of Virginia Library


98

The Battle of the Alma.

By the faint and dying watchfires,
wounded, harassed, wearied out,
If we hear the vengeful trumpets,
if we catch the foeman's shout,—
What great wonder, though the Eagle
Russia crushed in height of pride,
Should to-day have better fortune
with the “Leopards” at her side?
Think, beside the Borodino,
(ninety thousand fell that day,)
Russian peasants kept the Old Guard
twelve long dreadful hours at bay:

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When we fired our holy Moscow,
how behind their rout and rack
Hung the standards of the Ukraine,
and the vengeful Don Cossack!
If this world were all,—how gallant
was that storming of the height,
With the Chasseurs in the centre,
and Saint Arnaud to the right:
When around the dying Marshal
formed their lines and rose their cheers:
And the chief that burnt the captives
in the cavern by Algiers.
Though outnumbered, outmanœuvred,
something comforts us within,
Whispering: It is sometimes nobler
to be conquered than to win:

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Nobler to be conquered, fighting
for each home and wife and pet,
Nobler to be conquered, leaving
names our land will not forget,—
Than, for greed of gold or glory,
on the hardwon field to say,
God Himself approves aggression,
for to Him we owe the day.
France and England, sing Te Deum,
that Te Deum so disgraced,
For the homes by you made homeless,
for the hearths by you laid waste:
And to serve both God and Mammon,
—this world's gain, but that world's loss,—
High above your very Altars
wreathe the Crescent with the Cross:

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There remains a dreader Judgment
where this wrong shall be repaid;
Juster scales than those of glory
where this battle shall be weighed.
On the Vigil of S. Matthew
Russian lips shall ever pray
For the men that died by Alma
when the Crescent won the day.
Courage, brethren! France's tyrant,
through the good path oped by you,
May have yet his Saint Helena,
Alma yet her Waterloo!