| |
| THICK snow-wreaths weighed upon the firs, | |
| Snow shrouded all the plain, | |
| Snow brooded in the dusky clouds, | |
| Snow matted the chill rain, | |
| Snow filled the valleys to the brim, | 5 |
| Snow whitened all the air; | |
| The snowdrifts on the Dnieper road | |
| Blinded us with their glare. | |
| |
| The white snow on our eagles weighed, | |
| It capped each crimson plume; | 10 |
| Knee-deep it now began to rise, | |
| Striking us all with gloom. | |
| It clotted on our wagon wheels, | |
| And on our knapsacks weighed, | |
| It clung to every soldier’s breast, | 15 |
| And every bayonet-blade. | |
| |
| It quenched the shells and dulled the shot | |
| That round us faster fell, | |
| As all our bayonets glancing moved | |
| Down the long Russian dell | 20 |
| That to the Dnieper river bore. | |
| Ney battled in our rear; | |
| Griloff was nearly on us then, | |
| The Cossacks gathered near. | |
| |
| The Russian lancers charged our guards, | 25 |
| Our grenadiers, and horse; | |
| The Russian serfs, with axe and knife, | |
| Were gathering in force, | |
| As floods of us with carts and guns | |
| Bore down upon the ridge | 30 |
| That led, by snowy swathes and slopes, | |
| Unto the Dnieper bridge. | |
| |
| The sun, a dull broad spot of blood, | |
| Smouldered through icy clouds; | |
| The snow, in blinding heavy flakes, | 35 |
| Was weaving soldiers’ shrouds. | |
| Here lay a powder-wagon split, | |
| Its wheels all black and torn, | |
| And there a gun half buried in | |
| The ruts its weight had worn. | 40 |
| |
| Drums splashed with blood and broken swords | |
| Were scattered everywhere; | |
| Our shattered muskets, shakos pierced, | |
| Lay partly buried there. | |
| Guns foundered, chests of cartridge burst, | 45 |
| Lay by the dead defaced; | |
| By hasty graves of hillocked snow | |
| You could our path have traced. | |
| |
| Still one battalion firm was left, | |
| Made up of Davoust’s men, | 50 |
| “The Vieille Roche” we called the band, | |
| In admiration then. | |
| The “Father of the Regiment,” | |
| De Maubourg, led us on, | |
| With the old Roman’s iron will, | 55 |
| Though hope had almost gone. | |
| |
| Two sons he had, who guarded him | |
| From every Cossack spear; | |
| One was a grenadier, whose heart | |
| Had never known a fear; | 60 |
| The other boy a lusty drum | |
| Beat by his father’s side; | |
| I often saw the father smile | |
| To see the stripling’s pride. | |
| |
| There came a rush of ponderous guns, | 65 |
| Grinding the red churned snow, | |
| Making their way o’er dying men | |
| Unto the bridge below. | |
| Ney gathered close his prickly squares | |
| To keep the Russians back, | 70 |
| For fast those yelling Cossacks came | |
| Upon our bleeding track. | |
| |
| Maubourg was there erect and firm; | |
| I saw him through the fire; | |
| He stooped to kiss a dying friend, | 75 |
| Then seemed to rise the higher. | |
| Great gaps the Russian cannon tore | |
| Through our retreating ranks, | |
| As slowly, grimly, Ney drew back | |
| Unto the river banks. | 80 |
| |
| Shot in the knee I saw Maubourg, | |
| Borne by his sons—slow—slow; | |
| They staggered o’er the muddy ruts | |
| And through the clogging snow. | |
| “Fly, leave me, children! Dear to France | 85 |
| Young lives are,” then he said. | |
| They both refused: a round shot came, | |
| And struck the eldest—dead. | |
| |
| The boy knelt weeping by his side, | |
| Trying in vain to lift | 90 |
| The old man’s body, which but sank | |
| The deeper in the drift. | |
| “Leave me, my child!” he cried again. | |
| “Think of your mother,—go. | |
| We meet in heaven. I will stay, | 95 |
| Death is no more my foe.” | |
| |
| The boy fell weeping on his breast, | |
| And there had gladly died, | |
| But I released his clutching hands, | |
| And tore him from his side. | 100 |
| One kiss—no more—and then he went, | |
| Beating his drum for us; | |
| I did not dare to turn and see | |
| The old man perish thus. | |
| |
| Again there came a rush of spears, | 105 |
| But we drove on the guns, | |
| We—bronze and iron with the heat | |
| Of the Egyptian suns. | |
| The eagles led,—our bayonets pressed | |
| Over the Dnieper bridge; | 110 |
| Ney was the last to turn and pass | |
| Down the long gory ridge. | |
| |
| The boy became a marshal, sirs; | |
| I saw him yesterday | |
| Talking to Soult, who loves right well | 115 |
| To chat of siege and fray. | |
| He often finds our barracks out | |
| And comes to see us all, | |
| We who escaped from Moscow’s fire, | |
| From Russian sword and ball. | 120 |
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