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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, 'T is 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.

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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 prey, Collect thy might, augmented by delay; Still as the calm, when on her siren breast The slumbering earthquake and the whirlwind rest.

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