XVI.
List—frequent to the hurrying rout,
The stern pursuers’ vengeful shout
Tells, that upon their broken rear
Rages the Prussian’s bloody spear.
So fell a shriek was none,
When Beresina’s icy flood
Redden’d and thaw’d with flame and blood,
And, pressing on thy desperate way,
Raised oft and long their wild hurra,
The children of the Don.
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft
So ominous, when, all bereft
Of aid, the valiant Polack left—
Aye, left by thee—found soldier’s grave
In Leipsic’s corpse-encumber’d wave.
Fate, in these various perils past,
Reserved thee still some future cast:—
On the dread die thou now hast thrown,
Hangs not a single field alone,
Nor one campaign—thy martial fame,
Thy empire, dynasty, and name,
Have felt the final stroke;
And now, o’er thy devoted head
The last stern vial’s wrath is shed,
The last dread seal is broke.