patriotism, which is not the
meanest characteristic of elevated genius. While the poet gives full way
to the triumphant feelings so naturally inspired by the exploits of
Russian valour, and by the patient fortitude of Russian policy, he
wisely and nobly abstains on indulging in any of those outbursts of
gratified revenge and national hatred which deform the pages of almost
all--poets, and even historians--who have written on this colossal
subject.

NAPOLEON.

The wondrous destiny is ended,
The mighty light is quench'd and dead;
In storm and darkness hath descended
Napoleon's sun, so bright and dread.
The captive King hath burst his prison--
The petted child of Victory;
And for the Exile hath arisen
The dawning of Posterity.

O thou, of whose immortal story
Earth aye the memory shall keep,
Now, 'neath the shadow of thy glory
Rest, rest, amid the lonely deep!
A grave sublime ... nor nobler ever
Couldst thou have found ... for o'er thine urn
The Nations' hate is quench'd for ever,
And Glory's beacon-ray shall burn.

There was a time thine eagles tower'd
Resistless o'er the humbled world;
There was a time the empires cower'd
Before the bolt thy hand had hurl'd:
The standards, thy proud will obeying,
Flapp'd wrath and woe on every wind--
A few short years, and thou wert laying
Thine iron yoke on human kind.

* * * * *

And France, on glories vain and hollow,
Had fixed her frenzy-glance of flame--
Forgot sublimer hopes, to follow
Thee, Conqueror, thee--her dazzling shame!
Thy legions' swords with blood were drunken--
All sank before thine echoing tread;
And Europe fell--for sleep was sunken,
The sleep of death--upon her head.

* * * * *

Thou mightst have judged us, but thou wouldst not!
What dimm'd thy reason's piercing light,
That Russian hearts thou understoodst not,
From thine heroic spirit's height?
Moscow's immortal conflagration
Foreseeing not, thou deem'dst that we
Would kneel for peace, a conquer'd nation--
Thou knew'st the Russ ... too late for thee!

Up, Russia! Queen of hundred battles,
Remember now thine ancient right!

* * * * *

Blaze, Moscow!--Far shall shine thy light!
Lo! other times are dawning o'er us:
Be blotted out, our short disgrace!
Swell, Russia, swell the battle chorus!