The French Army In Russia, 1812-13[160]

Composed 1816.--Published 1816

This was first published in 1816 in the "Miscellaneous Pieces, referring chiefly to recent public Events," in the volume entitled Thanksgiving Ode, January 18, 1816, with other short pieces, etc. In 1820 it was placed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty, Part II."--ED.

Humanity, delighting to behold A fond reflection of her own decay, Hath painted Winter like a traveller old, Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day, In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain, As though his weakness were disturbed by pain: Or, if a juster fancy should allow An undisputed symbol of command, The chosen sceptre is a withered bough, Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand. These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn; But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.

For he it was--dread Winter! who beset, Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net, That host, when from the regions of the Pole They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal-- That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied Their God, and placed their trust in human pride! As fathers persecute rebellious sons, He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth; He called on Frost's inexorable tooth Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold; Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs; For why--unless for liberty enrolled And sacred home--ah! why should hoary Age be bold?

Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed, But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed, And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride, And to the battle ride. No pitying voice commands a halt, No courage can repel the dire assault; Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind, Whole legions sink--and, in one instant, find Burial and death: look for them--and descry, When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky, A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!

The French "retreat from Moscow was perhaps the most disastrous on record since the days of Xerxes.... On the night of 6th November, the temperature suddenly fell to that of the most rigorous winter. In that dreadful night thousands of men perished, and nearly all the horses, which compelled the abandonment of the greater part of the convoys. From this point the road began to be strewn with corpses, presenting the aspect of one continuous battlefield.... At Smolensk the cold was at 20 degrees of Réaumur." (Dyer's History of Modern Europe, vol. iv. pp. 518, 519.)--ED.

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