Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/245

244 Reckless of all, save that last, desperate chance— Rush, struggle, strive, the powerful thrust the weak, And crush the dying. Hark! a thundering crash, A cry of horror! Down the broken bridge Sinks, and the wretched multitude plunge deep 'Neath the devouring tide. That piercing shriek With which they took their farewell of the sky Did haunt the living, as some doleful ghost Troubleth the fever-dream. Some for a while, With ice and death contending, sink and rise, While some in wilder agony essay To hold their footing on that tossing mass Of miserable life, making their path O'er palpitating bosoms. 'Tis in vain! The keen pang passes and the satiate flood Shuts silent o'er its prey. The severed host Stand gazing on each shore. The gulph—the dead Forbid their union. One sad throng is warned To Russia's dungeons, one with shivering haste Spread o'er the wild, through toil and pain to hew Their many roads to death. From desert plains, From sacked and solitary villages Gaunt Famine springs to sieze them; Winter's wrath, Unresting day or night, with blast and storm, And one eternal magazine of frost, Smites the astonished victims. God of Heaven! Warrest thou with France, that thus thine elements Do fight against her sons? Yet on they press, Stern, rigid, silent—every bosom steeled By the strong might of its own misery Against all sympathy of kindred ties. The brother on his fainting brother treads— Friend tears from friend the garment and the bread— That last, scant morsel, which his quivering lip