Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/142

It snowed,—it snowed continuous. The chill breeze
Whistled upon the glazed frost's endless seas;
With naked feet, on, on they ever went,
No bread to eat, and not a sheltering tent.
They were no more hearts living, troops of war,
They were mere phantoms of a dream, afar
In darkness wandering, amid vapours dim;
A mystery; of shadows a procession grim
Upon a black sky, to its very rim.
Solitude, vast and frightful to behold,
Was everywhere,—a Nemesis mute and cold.
The snow silently as it fell dense,
A shroud immense for this army immense;
And every soul felt as if left alone
In a wide wilderness, where no light shone,
To die, with none to pity or to see.
From this sad empire shall we e'er get free?
Two foes—the Czar, the North. The North is worst.
Cannon were thrown away in haste accurst
To burn the frames and make the scant fire high;
Those who lay down woke not, or woke to die.
Sad and confused, the groups that wildly fled,
Devoured them all the desert still and dread.
'Neath the white folds the blinding snow had raised
Whole regiments slept. History amazed
Beheld the ruin. What to this retreat,
Was any former downfall or defeat!
What Hannibal's reverses wrapped in gloom!
What Attila's, when whole hordes received their doom!
Fugitives, men wounded, guns, horses, carts,
Tumbrils and waggons, hurried from all parts
In wild confusion; at the bridges oft
The crush was frightful. Vultures wheeled aloft!
Ten thousand men lay down fatigued to sleep,