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"Behold the avenging arm of Heaven stretched forth,

"To drive invasion from the favored North; "Then rise indignant in a sacred cause,

"To guard your country's altars and her laws; "Twice twenty millions own the Russian sway, "And warlike myriads Russia's chiefs obey.

"Then vain the hope presumptuous France has shewn,

"Our states to conquer, or to shake our throne.

"Arise, Muscovians, bear the cross abroad,

"And carry justice on the ready sword;

"With force resistless crush the invader's ranks,

"And well deserve a grateful monarch's thanks."

The starry wonders of the heavenly sphere,
Direct the seasons, and bring round the year;
And as the golden orbs in music roll,

Protect the righteous, and the base controul (22).
No more shall dire Napoleon impious boast,

The blessed protection of the ethereal host;

Upon his helm no more shall victory stand,
Or guide his eagles o'er the ravaged land:
Rich summer's breath has left the frigid plain,
And bleak Kalinka reassumes his reign.

Sons of the North, the brave Muscovians go
In battled order through th' untrodden snow,
While feebler frames of Southern Europe's birth,
Spread their chilled limbs upon the frozen earth;
Even generous chargers, reft of all their fire,
Sink with their riders, and in groans expire.

Along the Dwina's banks the trumpet's bray, And echoing bugles rouse the battle fray : Engaging close, the adverse armies meet, The Russians follow as the Gauls retreat, Retreating to their strong entrenchments run, And close the battle with the setting sun.

The live-long day the deep artillery's roar

Shook the lone caverns of the sounding shore:

On every side the wounded soldiers round,
Lie stretch'd in blood, expiring on the ground;
Mingled in heaps, the hands who fighting stood,
And plunged their bayonets in each other's blood.
Thy simple village spire, Bolonia, then
Beheld the Russian bayonet fixed again :

On either side the Dwina's banks along,

The hardy Muscovites in thousands throng,
Brave Steinheil then brought on his gallant band,
And broke the hostile ranks on Dwina's strand.

Thy stream, Polota, flowing soft along, Witnessed the coming of the Gallic throng;

When at the drum's deep roll, and trumpet's call,

They rushed tumultuous to Polotski's wall:

Then the fleet Cossack, with his lance in rest,

Against the fire of Gaul opposed his breast;

Not the firm bastion, or the palisade,

Nor all the glorious arts of war essayed,

Could for a moment Russian hands disarm,

Or save Polotski from the coming storm.
Fierce on her walls, collected in their force,
The gallant infantry, and charging horse,
Come thundering on, in search of just renown,
And drive the French from out the ravaged town.

The harassed enemy pursued his way,

Through many a stormy night and fearful day; Disasters still attend upon his flight,

With all the terrors of the Cossack fight:

Upon his rear, and on his flanks they came,

And put

his troops to a "perpetual shame."

Thick round their heads the deadly bullets fly,
Sulphureous clouds involve the wintry sky;

The loud explosions stun the affrighted steeds,
While prone on earth the hapless rider bleeds:
Quick coming horrors press each other's heel,
The "frightful climate and the Cossack's steel;

Expiring hundreds curse the fatal morn

When to Muscovian plains their steps were borne :
Nor these alone the weary Gauls annoy,

Even the rough boors their simple means employ,

Bound hand in hand, and heart to heart, they stand,
And give their blood to shield their

parent land: Ring from the village spires the loud alarms,

Join in one common cause their iron arms;

And brand for ever with a coward's name

The wretch who basely seeks his country's shame (23).

Nor let the British muse disdain to weep

In holy drops upon the soldier's sleep;

Even if the warrior own Napoleon's sway,

And spends his breath on Smolensk's fatal day;

Were frequent seen on old Kalouga's way,

The Gallic eagles turn and seek the fray;

Still to the wakening trump and beating drum,

The tough-armed Yagers, and the Cossacks, come,