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THE

POETICAL ALBUM.

THE CONFLAGRATION OF MOSCOW.

BY THE REV. C. C. COLTON.

HER royal nest the Russian eagle fires,
And to the wild recess-revenged-retires;
Her talons unexpended lightnings arm,

And high resentments all her courage warm.
Tempt not, thou fiend of France! her arduous track;
Ambition spurs thee on-defeat shall goad thee back.
False friends in rear, in front a stubborn foe,
Thy caterer, famine,- and thy couch the snow:
Then view that fiery cope with ghastly smile,
'Tis thy ambition's grand funereal pile.

Blaze on, ye gilded domes, and turrets high,
And like a furnace glow, thou trembling sky!
Be lakes of fire the tyrant's sole domain,
And let that fiend o'er flames and ruins reign;
Doomed like the Rebel Angel, to be shown
A fiery dungeon, where he hoped a throne.
Blaze on! thou costliest, proudest sacrifice,

E'er lit by patriot hands, or fanned by patriot's sighs.

B

By stubborn constancy of soul, a rock
That firmly meets but to return the shock,-
By all that power inflicts, or slavery bears—
By all that freedom prompts, or valour dares-
By all that bids the bright historic page

Of Greece and Rome inspire each after age-
By all of great, that must our wonder raise
In direst, worst extremities,-we praise
A deed that animates, exalts, inflames

A world in arms-from Tanais to the Thames!
Hail! nobly-daring, wisely-desperate deed:
Moscow is PARIS, should the Gaul succeed!

Then perish temple, palace, fort, or tower That screens a foeman in this 'vengeful hour; Let self-devotion rule this righteous cause, And triumph o'er affections, customs, laws; With Roman daring be the flag unfurledThemselves they conquered first, and then the world; Be this the dirge o'er Moscow's mighty grave, She stood to foster, but she fell to save! Her flames like Judah's guardian pillar rose To shield her children, to confound her foes; That mighty beacon must not blaze in vain, It rouses earth, and flashes o'er the main.

The sacrifice is made, the deed is done:
Russia! thy woes are finished, Gaul's begun!
Soon to return-retire! There is a time
When earthly virtue must not cope with crime.
Husband thy strength, let not a life be lost,
One patriot's life is worth the Gallic host;
Unbend awhile thy bow, more strongly still
To force thy shaft, and all thy quivers fill;
Crouched like the tiger, prescient of the
Collect thy might, augmented by delay;
Still as the calm, when on her siren breast

prey,

The slumbering earthquake and the whirlwind rest.

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