Page:Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.djvu/289

 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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