Indite thy conscript code with iron pen, That cancels crime, demoralizes men; 150 Thy false and fatal aid to virtue lend, And start a Washington, a Nero end; And vainly strive to strangle in his youth Didst steal, and drop a changeling in his stead. Yes, yes,--I see thee turn thy vaunting gaze, Where files reflect to files the o'erpowering blaze; Rather, like Xerxes, o'er those numbers sigh, Braver than his, but sooner doom'd to die. 160 Here! Number only courts that Death it cloys, Here! Might is weakness, and herself destroys: Lead then thy southern myriads lock'd in steel, Lead on! too soon their nerveless arm shall feel Those magazines impregnable of snow, That kill without a wound, o'rewhelm without a foc. I see thee,-'tis the bard's prophetic eye, Reft of thy trappings, pomp, and glittering gear, Like foil'd Darius, doom'd too late to know The stern ænigmas of a Scythian foe,-- Thy standard torn, while vengeful scorpions sting Th' imperial bird, and cramp his flagging wing,- The days are numbered of thy motley host, Freedom's vain fear, Oppression's vainer boast. 170 180 And lo, the Beresyna opens wide His yawning mouth, his wintry weltering tide! In silent ambush through his trackless snows: There shall thy way-worn ranks despairing stand, With retribution deep, in vain repentance moan! Thy Veteran worn by wounds, and years, and toils, Pilgrim of Honour in all suns and soils, By thy ambition foully tempted forth To fight the frozen rigours of the north, Unpierc'd, unconquer'd sinks, yet breathes a sigh, -For he had hop'd a soldier's death to die. Was it for this that fatal hour he braved, 190 When o'er the Cross the conquering Crescent waved ? Was it for this he plough'd the western main, To weld the struggling Negro's broken chain,— 200 Fac'd his relentless hate, to frenzy fired, Stung by past wrongs, by present hopes inspired, Then hurried home to lend his treacherous aid, 'Tis morn!-but lo, the warrior-steed, in vain The trumpet summons from the bloodless plain; Ne'er was he known till now to stand aloof, Still midst the slain was found his crimson hoof; Oft had he hail'd the battle from afar, And paw'd to meet the rushing wreck of war; With reinless neck the danger oft had braved, His generous heart, and had as often failed: 210 220 That heart no more life's frozen current thaws, Brave, guiltless champion, in a guilty cause! One northern night more hideous work hath done, Spoil'd Child of Fortune, could the murder'd Turk, Or wrong'd Iberian view thy ghastly work, They'd sheathe their vengeful blade, and clearly see -Now view the iron fragments of the feast.-- O, if to cause and witness others grief Unmov'd, be firmness--thou art Stoa's Chief! Thy fell recorded boast, all Zeno said 230 Caught in the Northern Net, what darest thou dare? Snatch might from madness? courage from despair? If courage lend thy breast a transient ray, "Tis the Storm's lightning---not the beam of day: |