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6 Such was the hazard of the die; The wounded Charles was taught to fly By day and night through field and flood, Stain’d with his own and subjects’ blood; For thousands fell that flight to aid: And not a voice was heard t’upbraid Ambition in his humbled hour, When truth had nought to dread from power. His horse was slain, and Gieta gave His own—and died the Russians’ slave. This too sinks after many a league Of well sustain’d, but vain fatigue; And in the depth of forests, darkling The watch-fires in the distance sparkling— The beacons of surrounding foes— A king must lay his limbs at length. Are these the laurels and repose For which the nations strain their strength? They laid him by a savage tree, In out-worn nature’s agony; His wounds were stiff—his limbs were stark— The heavy hour was chill and dark;