264 THE RETURN OF NAPOLEON.
Of Borodino s blood ?
Or Beresina s wail ? The horrors of that dire retreat,
Which turned old History pale ?
A cloud is on their brow,
Is it sorrow for the dead ? Or a shuddering at the wintry shaft
By Russian tempests sped ? Where countless mounds of snow
Marked the poor conscripts grave, And pierced by frost and famine, sank
The bravest of the brave.
A thousand trembling lamps
The gathered darkness mock, And velvet drapes his hearse, who died
On bare Helena s rock ; And from the altar near,
A never-ceasing hymn Is lifted by the chanting priests
Beside the taper dim.
Mysterious One, and proud !
In the land where shadows reign, Hast thou met the flocking ghosts of those
Who at thy nod were slain ? Oh, when the cry of that spectral host,
Like a rushing blast shall be, What will thine answer be to them ?
And what thy God s to thee ?
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