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~ Father,” Valdivia cried, “ fierce are our foes, Ah ! turn and see--a dagger in his hand The last event of war God only knows;

With scowling browsee the assassin stand! Let mass be sung.-Father, this very night Pizarro falls !* -he welters in his gore ! I would attend the high and holy rite.

Lord of the western world, art thou no more? Yet deem not that I doubt of victory,

Valdivia, hark !-it was another groan ! Or place defeat or death before mine eye, Another shadow comes !--it is thy own! It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall,

Ah, bind not thus his arms give, give him breath! Good father! I would part in peace with all. Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death! So tell Lautaro—his ingenuous mind

Valdivia, starting, woke:-he is alone: Perhaps may grieve, if late I seem'd unkind : The taper in his tent yet dimly shone: Hear my heart speak—though far from virtue's way “ Lautaro, haste!” he cried; “ Lautaro, save Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray,

Thy dying master !-Ah! is this the brave, No wanton exercise of barbarous power

The haughty victor?--Hush, the dream is past ! Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour. The early trumpets ring the second blast! “ If hasty passions oft my spirit fire,

Arm, arm !-E’en now, th' impatient charger They flash a moment, and the next expire ;

neighs ! Lautaro knows it.—There is somewhat more Again, from tent to tent, the trumpet brays ! I would not, herehere, on this distant shore By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, (Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail, · Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band, And this good sword and these firm sinews fail) With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed, Amid my deadly enemies be found,

A troop observant on the heights to lead !" Unhostled,* unabsolved, upon the ground,

Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch, A dying man,—thy look, thy reverend age, Appear’d the main battalion's moving march; Might save my poor remains from barbarous rage; The banner of the cross was borne before, And thou mayst pay the last sad obsequies, And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar, O'er the heap'd earth where a brave soldier lies:- The holy man went thoughtfully, and prest So God be with thee!"

A crucifix, in silence, to his breast.

By the torches' light, Valdivia, all in plated steel array'd, The slow procession moves: the solemn rite Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence play'd, Is chanted : through the aisles and arches dim, Majestic rein'd his steed, and seem'd alone, At intervals, is heard th’ imploring hymn.

Worthy the southern world's imperial throne. Now all is still, that only you might hear

His features through the barred casque that glow, (The tall and slender tapers burning clear, His pole-axe, pendent from the saddle bow; Whose light Anselmo's pallid brow illumes, His steely armour, and the glitter bright Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes) Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light, Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread,

Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament That echoed through the cloisters of the dead. Array'd, but on emprise of prowess bent, Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's And deeds of deadly strife: in blooming pride,

Th’attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side. Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh Their pennon'd lances, waving in the wind, Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height Two hundred clanking horsemen tramp'd behind, The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night. In iron harness clad—the bugles blew, By the dim taper's solitary ray,

And high in air the sanguine ensigns few. Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay.

The arbalasters next, with cross-bows slung, Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams March’d, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals 'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes,

swung. Where terraces, and battlements, and towers, Auxiliar Indians here, a various train, Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers.

With spears and bows, darken'd the distant plain. Sudden the visionary pomp is past,

Drums rolld, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast,

At intervals, as near and yet more near,
A dismal vault appears,—where, with swoln eyes, While flags and intermingled halberts shine,
As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies: The long battalion drew its passing line.
It is Almagro's corpse !1-roll on, ye drums,

Last rolld the heavy guns, a sable tier,
Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro, comes !

By Indians drawn, with match-men in the rear Her gold, her richest gems, let fortune strew And many a straggling mule and sumpter train Before the mighty conqueror of Peru!

Closed the embattled order on the plain,
Till naught beneath the azure sky appears

But the projecting points of scarce-discover'd spears. * Shakspeare.

Slow up the bill, with floating vapours hoar, + It may be necessary to say here, that whenever the Spaniards founded a city, after the immediate walls of

Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore, defence, their first object was to build a church, and to Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze, have, with as much pomp as possible, the ecclesiastical | The glittering file its banner'd length displays; services performed. Hence the cathedrals founded by Now winding from the woods, again appears them, in America, were of transcendent beauty and The moving line of matchlocks and of spears, magnificence

1 Almagro, who first penetrated into Chili, was after. wards strangled.

# Pizarro was assassinated.

wide way;

Part seen, part lost: the long illustrious march Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel
Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch; Advancing, in the front of carnage, fell.
And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow, At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rush'd,
A radiant segment of a living bow.

And swaying their huge clubs together, crush'd
Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in
O’er plains, and headlands, held their eastern way. gore,
On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe, And limb from limb the panting carcass tore.
And horror, in the last defile they saw,

Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds, Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run, Hosts, and succeeding hosts, undaunted leads, All gash'd and grim, and blackening in the sun : Till, torn and shatter'd by the ceaseless fire, These were the gallant troop that pass'd before, Thousands with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, The Indians' vast encampment to explore,

expire. Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound

Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies, Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground. And grasps his club terrific as he dies. The horses startled, as they tramp'd in blood; With breathless expectation, on the height, The troops a moment half-recoiling stood. Lautaro watch'd the long and dubious fight:

But boots not now to pause, or to retire ; Pale and resign'd the meek man stood, and Valdivia's eye flash'd with indignant fire:

press'd “ Onward ! brave comrades, to the pass !” he cried— More close the holy image to his breast. “Onward!” th' impatient cuirassiers replied. Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew,

And now, up to the hill's ascending crest, When on the ground a warrior met his view, With animated look and beating breast,

Upon whose features memory seem'a to trace He urged his steed—when, wide beneath his eye, A faint resemblance of his father's face; He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie. O'er him a horseman, with collected might,

Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, One undulating mass of club and lance, When the youth springing on, without a word, One animated surface seem'd to fill

Snatch'd from a soldier's wearied grasp the sword, The many stirring scene, from hill to hill: And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell To the deep mass he pointed with his sword, of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell. “ Banner, advance !” Give out“ Castile !" the word. Lautaro shouted, “On! brave brothers, on!

Instant the files advance-the trumpets bray, Scatter them, like the snow the day is won ! And now the host, in terrible array,

Lo, I! Lautaro, -Attacapac's son!”
Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain, The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds-
Has halted :-

Cleft are the helms, and crush'd the struggling steeds.
But the task were long and vain The bugle sounds, and saint with toil and heat,
To say what nations, from the seas that roar Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat.
Round Patagonia's melancholy shore;

Stand, brave companions !” bold Valdivia cried, From forests, brown with everlasting shades; And shook his sword, in recent carnage died. From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades; “0! droop not-droop not yet-all is not o'erFrom spowy summits where the llama roams, Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more! Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams;

Where is Lautaro ? leaps his willing sword From streams, whose bridges* tremble from the Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord ?” steep;

He waited not for answer, but again From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep; Spurr'd to the centre of the horrid plain, Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb,

Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death enclose, With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim,

And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose. Flock'd fearless.

'Mid ghastly heaps of roany a bleeding corpse, When they saw the Spanish line Lies the caparison'd and dying horse. Arranged, and front to front, descending shine, While still the rushing multitudes assail, Burst-instant burst, the universal cry

Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail! (Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky) The Spanish horsemen faint: long yells resound “ Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die!"

As the dragg'd ensign trails the gory ground. Grim Mariantu led the Indian force

“ Shout, for the chief is seized!"-a thousand A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse,

cries
Hurld with unerring aim th' involving thong, Burst forth—“ Valdivia ! for the sacrifice !"
Then fearless sprung amidst the mailed throng. And lo, in silent digoity resign'd,
Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel,

The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind!
And shouting, as he rode, “ Castile ! Castile !"

His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel Led on the charge :-like a descending food, Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell: It swept, till every spur was black with blood.

The spear, that to bis heart a passage found, His force a-right, where Elicura led,

Left poor Olola's hair within the wound. A thousand spears went hissing overhead,

Now all is hụshd-save where, at times, alone And feather'd arrows, of each varying hue, Deep midnight listens to a distant moan, In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew. Save where the condors clamour, overhead,

And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the • Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives.

dead.

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SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS.

foes !"

Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red, CANTO VIII.

To soothe the spirits of the brave who bled, ARGUMENT.

Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead. Indian festival for victory-Old warrior brought in wounded Bring forth the chief in bonds – Fathers, to-day,

-Recognises his long-lost son, and dies-- Discovery | Devote we to our gods the noblest prey."
Conclusion with the old warrior's funeral, and prophetic

Lautaro turn'd his eyes, and, gazing round, oration by the Missionary.

Beheld Valdivia, and Anselmo, bound!

One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, The morn returns, and reddening seems to shed

His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare, One ray of glory on the patriot dead !

Where streaks of blood, that dropt upon his mail, Round the dark stone, the victor chiefs behold!

Served but to show his face more deadly pale: ' Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold !

His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent, There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride

And stood, composed, to wait the dire event. Of Chili, young Lautaro by his side !

Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast,
Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood,
Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dropping blood. And in a world of light, without a shade,

As if all thought of this vain world was passid, Shrill sound the pipes of death: in festive dance,

E'en now his meek and guileless spirit stray'd. The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance;

Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound The tinkling sea-shells on their ankles ring,

Kose, and each club was lifted from the ground; As, hailing thus the victor youth, they sing :

When, starting from his father's corpse, his sword
Waving before his once triumphant lord,

Lautaro cried, “ My breast shall meet the blow : 1.

But savesave him, to whom my life I owe!”

Valdivia mark'd him with unmoved eye, 0, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave!

Then look'd upon his bonds, nor deign'd reply; The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, When Mariantu,-stealing with slow pace, When the steeds of the strangers came rushing And lifting high his iron-jagged mace, amain,

Smote him to earth: a thousand voices rose, And the ghosts of our fathers look'd down on the Mingled with shouts and yells, “So fall our slain! 2.

Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space, «'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er,

As black in death he mark'd Valdivia's face, Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their Then cried, Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupoligore :

can, When in front, young Lautaro invincible stood, O, spare this innocent and holy man! And the horses and iron men roll'd in their blood! He never sail'd rapacious o'er the deep,

The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap. 3.

He never gave the armed hosts his aid “As the snows of the mountain are swept by the But meekly to the Mighty Spirit pray'd, blast,

That in all lands the sounds of wo might cease, The earthquake of death o'er the white men has And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace !" pass'd ;

The victor youth saw generous sympathy Shout, Chili, in triumph ! the battle is won, Already steal to every warrior's eye ; And we dance round the heads that are black in Then thus again:-“0, if this filial tear the sun!”

Bear witness my own father was most dear

If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound, Speak, for my country what I felt, and feel; Oft turn'd an anxious look inquiring round. If, at this hour, I meet her high applause, “ He is not here --Say, does my father live ?” While my heart beats still ardent in her cause ; Ere eager voices could an answer give,

Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, With faltering footsteps and declining head, O! hear how much to this poor man I owe. And slowly by an aged Indian led,

“I was a child—when to my sire's abode, Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears : In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode : “ Live, live !” Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay, And fell upon his neck, and kissing press’d, Far off the crested soldiers bore away, With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast. And for a captive sold. No friend was near, 6- 0, live! I am thy son-thy long-lost child !” To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear: The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled This humble man, with kind parental care, “Chili, my country, is avenged !” he cried : Snatch'd me from slavery-saved from dark de“My son !"—then sunk upon a shield—and died

spair ; Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bow'd,

And as my years increased, protected, fed, And kiss'd his bleeding breast, and wept aloud. And breathed a father's blessings on my head. The sounds of sadness through the circle ran, A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak? When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican,

Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek ! What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain, Years, as they pass'd, matured in ripening grace Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain ? Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face:

She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear, Now all th' assembled chiess, assenting, cried, And sometimes for my fortunes dropp'd a tear. “ Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride !"

« Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, With eager arms, Lautaro snatch'd his boy, And claim'd me from the father as his page ;

And kiss'd him in an agony of joy ;
The chief too cherish'd me-yea, saved my life, Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak,
When in Peru arose the civil strife.

And felt the tear first burning on his cheek:
Yet still remembering her I loved so well, The infant held his neck with strict einbrace,
Oft I return to the gray father's cell:

And kiss'd his pale emaciated face. His voice instructed me; recall'd my youth

From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore, From rude idolatry to heavenly truth:

His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. Of this hereafter. He my darkling mind

There was a bank, where slept the summer light, Clear’d, and from low and sensual thoughts refined. A small stream whispering went in mazes bright, Then first, with feelings new impress’d, I strove And stealing from the sea, the western wind To hide the tear of tenderness and love:

Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined: Amid the fairest maidens of Peru,

The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green, My eyes, my heart, one only object knew: And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen ; I lived that object's love and faith to share; And, arch'd with gay and pendent flowers above, He saw, and bless'd us with a father's prayer. The floripondio* its rich trellis wove.

“Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command, Lautato bent with looks of love and joy I came—a stranger in my native land!

O’er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy. Anselmo (so him call-now most in need

“0, by what miracle, beloved ! say, And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead) Hast thou escaped the perils of the way Came, by our chief so summond, and for aid From Lima, where our peaceful dwelling stood, To the Great Spirit of the Christians pray'd : To these terrific shores, this vale of blood ?" Here as a son I loved him, but I left

Waked by his voice, as from the sleep of death, A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft,

Faint she replied, with slow recovering breath, Never to see again-for death awaits

“ Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates.

gone, “ Caupolican, didst thou thy father love ? How sunk my heart !-deserted and alone Did his last dying look affection move?

• Would I were with thee !' oft I sat and sigh'd Pity this aged man ; unbend thy brow:

When the pale moon shone on the silent tideHe was my father-is my father now !"

At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas : Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien.- The brave bark cheerly went before the breeze, But who is this ?-what pallid form is seen? That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore, As crush'd already by the fatal blow,

From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow,— I seized the fair occasion-ocean smiled, Her hands upon her breast,-scarce drawn her As to the sire I bore his lisping child. breath,

The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock, A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death,

The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock. Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side,

Some mariners, amidst the billows wild, An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried. Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child: Lautaro started

What I have borne, a captive since that dayInjured maid of Spain !

(Forgive these tears)—I scarce have heart to say !. Meme So, take me to thine arms again!" None pitied, save one gentle Indian maidShe heard his voice,-with rushing thoughts op- A wild maid,-of her looks I was afraid ; press'd,

Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell, And one faint sigh, she sunk upon his breast. And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell.” Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried,

Lautaro for a moment turn'd aside, “ Live! live, Lautaro! and his beauteous bride!

And, “O! my sister !” with faint voice he cried. Live, aged father!”-and forthwith commands

Already free from sorrow and alarms, A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands.

I clasp'd in thought a husband in my arms, She raised her head : his eyes first met her view“When a dark warrior, station'd on the height, (As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw Who held his solitary watch by night, “Ah, no!" she feebly spoke ; " it is not true S

Before me stood, and lifting high his lance It is some form of the distemper'd brain !"

Exclaim'd, 'No further, on thy life, advance! Then hid her face upon his breast again.

Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around : Back to the dismal cave my steps he led, Here, his brains scatter'd by the deadly wound, Duly at eve, within the craggy cleft, The Spanish chief lay, on the gory ground.

Some water, and a cake of maize, were left: With lowering brows, and mace yet dropping The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky: blood,

When morning came, they brought me forth to die And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood.

But hush'd be every sigh, each boding fear, Anselmo mournful, yet in sorrow mild,

Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here !" Stood opposite :--“A blessing on your child," The woman said, as slow revived her waking sense,

* One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing And then, with looks aghast, " ( bear us hence !" plants of South America.

INDIAN.

INDIAN.

Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel, To reach a large and radiant butterfly,

And broke the spear, and cried, “Farewell -fareThat Autter'd near his face; with looks of love,

well !-" And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove

Lautaro hid his face, and sigh'd “ Adieu !" To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire, As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw. His eyes faint lighted with a transient fire, The little child, that to its mother clung, Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addrest, With sidelong looks, that on her garment hung, While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. Listend, half-shrinking, as with awe profound, An Indian came, with feathers crown'd,

And dropt its flowers, unconscious, on the ground. And knelt before Lautaro on the ground.

The alpaca, now grown old, and almost wild, “ What tidings, Indian ?

Which poor Olola cherish'd, when a child,
Came from the mountains, and with earnest gaze,

Seem'd as remembering those departed days,
“ When I led thy sire,

When his tall neck he bent, with aspect bland, Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire,

And lick’d, in silence, the caressing hand! Son of our ulmen, didst thou mark no trace,

And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined, In these sad looks, of a remember'd face?

The warrior's relics, dust to dust, consigna Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look, here !

With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee, It is thy father's hatchet and his spear.”

“ Eternam pacem dona, Domine.” “ Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice,” Then rising up, he closed the holy book ; Lautaro cried, “ once more to hear that voice ! And lifting in the beam his lighted look, Lise like a dream, since last we met, has fled (The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast,) 0! my beloved sister, thou art dead !"

“Here, too,” he cried, “my bones in peace shall

rest!

Few years remain to me, and never more “ I come to guide thee, through untrodden ways,

Shall I behold, 0 Spain ! thy distant shore !

Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave To the lone valley, where thy father's days Were pass'd; where every cave, and every tree,

O’er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave. From morn to morn, remember'd him of thee!”

Then may it-(when the sons of future days

Shall hear our tale, and on the hillock gaze,)
Lautaro cried, “ Here, faithful Indian, stay ;
I have a last sad duty yet to pay,

Then may it teach, that charity should bind,
A little while we part :-Thou here remain :"

Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind ! He spake, and pass'd like lightning o'er the plain. | Thy voice, o Christ! and drop the slaughtering

The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear “Ah, cease, Castilian maid! thy vain alarms ! See where he comes—his father in his arms !"

spear. “ Now lead,” he cried.—The Indian, sad and still,

“ Yet, we condemn not him who bravely stood, Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill;

To seal his country's freedom with his blood; Her infant tired, and hush'd a while to rest,

And if, in after-times, a ruthless band

Of fell invaders sweep my native land,
Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast;
The pensive mother gray Anselmo led:

May she, by Chili's stern example led,
Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead.

Hurl back his thunder on th' assailant's head; Beneath the branching palms they slept at night ; And learn one virtue from her ancient foe !"

Sustain'd by freedom, strike th’avenging blow, The small birds waked them ere the morning

light. Before their path, in distant view, appear'd

EPILOGUE. The mountain smoke, that its dark column rear'd These notes I sung when strove indignant Spain O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky,

To rend th' abhorr'd invader's iron chain ! Lifting their icy pinnacles so high.

With beating heart, we listen'd from afar Four days they onward held their eastern way:

To each faint rumour of the various war ; On the fifth rising morn before them lay

Now trembled, lest her fainting sons should yield ; Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green Now follow'd thee to the ensanguined field; The warrior's loved and last abode was seen. Thee, most heroic Wellington, and cried, No smoke went upstillness was all around, When Salamanca's plain in shouts replied, Save where the waters fell with soothing sound, “ All is not lost! The scatter'd eagles flySave where the thenca sung so loud and clear, All is not lost! England and victory !” And the bright humming-bird was spinning near. Hark! the noise hurtles in the frozen north! Yet here all human tumults seem'd to cease, France pours again her banner'd legions forth, And sunshine rested on the spot of peace;

With trump, and plumed horsemen! Whence that The myrtles bloom'd as fragrant and as green As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene,

Lo! ancient Moscow flaming to the sky! And in his ear the falling water's spray

Imperial fugitive! back to the gates Seem'd swelling with the sounds of yesterday. Of Paris ! while despair the tale relates,

“Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, Of dire discomfiture, and shame, and flight, There shall my father's bones in peace be laid.” And the dead, bleaching on the snows of night.

Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground; Shout! for the heart ennobling transport fills ! The small and sad communion gather'd round. Conquest's red banner floats along the hills

cry?

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