Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/143

110 And then perhaps a hundred woke; a heap Of corpses had the rest become. One night, Ney, whom an army followed late, in flight His watch disputed with three Cossacks wild. 'Who goes! Alert! To arms!' And then defiled These phantoms with their guns, and o'er and o'er, Came the same scenes of tumult and of gore. Our troops beheld upon them headlong fall Time after time, at some strange trumpet-call, Frightful, enwrapt with gloom, with cries like those Of the bald vultures 'mid the boundless snows, Horrible squadrons, whirlwinds of wild men. Perished our army, fled our glory then. The Emperor was there. He stood and gazed At the wild havoc all around, amazed. As on a giant tree for ages spared Falls the rude axe, misfortune now first dared To strike upon him, and he trembling saw, He, living oak, his branches fall, with awe. Chiefs, soldiers, followers died. But with love, Those that remained, all dastard fear above, Still watched his tent to see his shadow pass Backwards and forwards. They believed, alas! Yet in his star; it could not, could not be; He had a work to do, a destiny! To hurl him headlong from his high estate, Would be high treason in his bondsman Fate. And all the while he felt himself alone, Stunned with disasters few have ever known. Sudden, a fear came o'er his troubled soul, What more was written in the Future's scroll? Was this an expiation? It must be so. For what? From whom could he the meaning know? The man of glory trembled, weak and pale,