XXXI. SPANISH GUERILLAS. 1811. THEY seek, are sought; to daily battle led, * Sertorius. XXXII. 1811. THE power of Armies is a visible thing, That power, that spirit, whether on the wing In every nook a lip that it may cheer. XXXIII. 1811. HERE pause: the poet claims at least this praise, Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye; Forget thy weakness, upon which is built, O wretched man, the throne of tyranny! XXXIV. THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA. 1812-13. 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, 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! 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, 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! |