But further off the heaven’s ruddy blaze.
In vain the Prussians look with eager hope,
For spoils and prisoners of the conquered land;
In vain despatch swift couriers for the news,
The couriers hasten—and return no more.
As each this cruel doubt interpreteth,
He willingly would know despair itself.
The autumn passed away. The winter’s snows
Revelled upon the mountains, block the ways.
Once more upon the distant heaven shine—