The power and glory of the war,

Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar,

And Moscow's walls were safe again, Until a day more dark and drear, And a more memorable year, Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name; A greater wreck, a deeper fall,

A shock to one-a thunderbolt to all.

II.

Such was the hazard of the die ;
The wounded Charles was taught to fly
By day and night through field and flood,
Stain'd with his own and subjects' blood;
For thousands fell that flight to aid:
And not a voice was heard t' upbraid
Ambition in his humbled hour,
When truth had nought to dread from power.
His horse was slain, and Gieta gave
His own-and died the Russians' slave.
This too sinks after many a league
Of well-sustain'd, but vain fatigue;
And in the depth of forests, darkling
The watch-fires in the distance sparkling-
The beacons of surrounding foes-
A king must lay his limbs at length.

Are these the laurels and repose
For which the nations strain their strength?
They laid him by a savage tree,

In outworn nature's agony;

His wounds were stiff, his limbs were stark-
The heavy hour was chill and dark;
The fever in his blood forbade
A transient slumber's fitful aid:

And thus it was; but yet through all,
Kinglike the monarch bore his fall,
And made, in this extreme of ill,
His pangs the vassals of his will:
All silent and subdued were they,
As once the nations round him lay.

III.

A band of chiefs !-alas! how few,
Since but the fleeting of a day
Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true
And chivalrous: upon the clay
Each sate him down, all sad and mute,
Beside his monarch and his steed;
For danger levels man and brute,

And all are fellows, in their need.
Among the rest, Mazeppa made
His pillow in an old oak's shade-
Himself as rough, and scarce less old,
The Ukraine's Hetman, calm and bold;
But first, outspent with this long course,
The Cossack prince rubbed down his horse,
And made for him a leafy bed,

And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane, And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, And joy'd to see how well he fed; For until now he had the dread His wearied courser might refuse To browse beneath the midnight dews: But he was hardy as his lord, And little cared for bed and board;

But spirited and docile too,
Whate'er was to be done, would do.
Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb,
All Tartar-like he carried him;
Obey'd his voice, and came at call,
And knew him in the midst of all:
Though thousands were around-and Night,
Without a star, pursued her flight-
That steed from sunset until dawn
His chief would follow like a fawn.

IV.

This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak
And laid his lance beneath his oak,
Felt if his arms in order good
The long day's march had well withstood-
If still the powder fill'd the pan,

And flints unloosen'd kept their lock—
His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt,
And whether they had chafed his belt ;-
And next the venerable man,
From out his havresack and can,

Prepared and spread his slender stock
And to the monarch and his men
The whole or portion offer'd then,
With far less of inquietude

Than courtiers at a banquet would.
And Charles of this his slender share
With smiles partook a moment there,
To force of cheer a greater show,
And seem above both wounds and woe;
And then he said, "Of all our band,
Though firm of heart and strong of hand,
In skirmish, march, or forage, none
Can less have said or more have done
Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth
So fit a pair had never birth,
Since Alexander's days till now,
As thy Bucephalus and thou;
All Scythia's fame to thine should yield,
For pricking on o'er flood and field."
Mazeppa answer'd,—" Ill betide

The school wherein I learn'd to ride!"
Quoth Charles,-" Old Hetman, wherefore so,
Since thou hast learn'd the art so well ?"
Mazeppa said ""Twere long to tell;
And we have many a league to go,
With every now and then a blow,
And ten to one at least the foe,
Before our steeds may graze at ease
Beyond the swift Borysthenes :
And, sire, your limbs have need of rest,
And I will be the sentinel

Of this your troop."-" But I request,"
Said Sweden's monarch, "thou wilt tell
This tale of thine, and I may reap,
Perchance, from this the boon of sleep;
For at this moment from my eyes
The hope of present slumber flies."

"Well, sire, with such a hope I'll track
My seventy years of memory back:

I think 'twas in my twentieth spring,-
Ay, 'twas-when Casimir was king—
John Casimir,-I was his page
Six summers, in my earlier age:
A learned monarch, faith! was he,
And most unlike your majesty:

He made no wars, and did not gain
New realms to lose them back again;
And (save debates in Warsaw's Diet)
He reign'd in most unseemly quiet :
Not that he had no cares to vex;
He loved the muses and the sex:
And sometimes these so froward are,
They made him wish himself at war;
But soon his wrath being o'er, he took
Another mistress, or new book:
And then he gave prodigious fêtes-
All Warsaw gather'd round his gates
To gaze upon his splendid court,
And dames, and chiefs, of princely port;
He was the Polish Solomon:
So sung his poets, all but one,
Who, being unpension'd, made a satire,
And boasted that he could not flatter.
It was a court of jousts and mimes,
Where every courtier tried at rhymes;
Even I for once produced some verses,
And signed my odes "Despairing Thyrsis."
There was a certain Palatine,

A Count of high and far descent,
Rich as a salt or silver mine:
And he was proud, ye may divine,

As if from heaven he had been sent:
He had such wealth in blood and ore

As few could match beneath the throne;
And he would gaze upon his store,
And o'er his pedigree would pore,
Until by some confusion led,
Which almost look'd like want of head,
He thought their merits were his own.
His wife was not of his opinion-
His junior she by thirty years,
Grew daily tired of his dominion;
And after wishes, hopes, and fears,
To virtue a few farewell tears,
A restless dream or two, some glances

At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances,
Awaited but the usual chances,
Those happy accidents which render
The coldest dames so very tender,
To deck her Count with titles given,
'Tis said, as passports into heaven;
But, strange to say, they rarely boast
Of these, who have deserved them most.

V.

"I was a goodly stripling then:

At seventy years I so may say,
That there were few, or boys or men,
Who, in my dawning time of day,
Of vassal or of knight's degree,
Could vie in vanities with me;
For I had strength, youth, gaiety,
A port, not like to this ye sce,
But smooth, as all is rugged now

For time, and care, and war have plough'd My very soul from out my brow;

And thus I should be disavow'd
By all my kind and kin, could they
Compare my day and yesterday.

This change was wrought, too, long ere age
Had ta'en my features for his page:
With years, ye know, have not declined
My strength, my courage, or my mind,

Or at this hour I should not be
Telling old tales beneath a tree,
With starless skies my canopy.

But let me on: Theresa's form-
Methinks it glides before me now,
Between me and yon chestnut's bough,
The memory is so quick and warm;
And yet I find no words to tell
The shape of her I loved so well
She had the Asiatic eye,

Such as our Turkish neighbourhood
Hath mingled with our Polish blood,
Dark as above us is the sky;
But through it stole a tender light,
Like the first moonrise of midnight;
Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,
Which seem'd to melt to its own beam;
All love, half langour, and half fire,
Like saints that at the stake expire,
And lift their raptured looks on high,
As though it were a joy to die.
A brow like a midsummer lake,

Transparent with the sun therein,
When waves no murmur dare to make,
And heaven beholds her face within.
A cheek and lip-but why proceed?
I loved her then-I love her still;
And such as I am, love indeed

In fierce extremes-in good and ill.
But still we love even in our rage,
And haunted to our very age
With the vain shadow of the past,
As is Mazeppa to the last.

VI.

"We met-we gazed-I saw, and sigh'd;
She did not speak, and yet replied!
There are ten thousand tones and signs
We hear and see, but none defines-
Involuntary sparks of thought,

Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought,
And form a strange intelligence,

Alike mysterious and intense,

Which link the burning chain that binds,
Without their will, young hearts and minds;
Conveying, as the electric wire,

We know not how, the absorbing fire,—
I saw, and sigh'd-in silence wept,
And still reluctant distance kept,
Until I was made known to her,
And we might then and there confer
Without suspicion-then, even then,

I long'd, and was resolved to speak;
But on my lips they died again,

The accents tremulous and weak,
Until one hour.-There is a game,
A frivolous and foolish play,
Wherewith we while away the day;
It is—I have forgot the name—
And we to this, it seems, were set,
By some strange chance, which I forget:

I reck'd not if I won or lost,

It was enough for me to be

So near to hear, and oh! to see The being whom I loved the most. I watch'd her as a sentinel,

(May ours this dark night watch as well!) Until I saw, and thus it was,

"I loved, and was beloved again-
They tell me, sire, you never knew
Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true,
I shorten all my joy or pain;
To you 'twould seem absurd as vain :
But all men are not born to reign,
Or o'er their passions, or as you
Thus o'er themselves and nations too.
I am or rather was-a prince,

A chief of thousands, and could lead

Them on where each would foremost bleed;

But could not o'er myself evince
The like control.-But to resume:

I loved, and was beloved again;

In sooth, it is a happy doom,

But yet where happiest ends in pain.—
We met in secret, and the hour
Which led me to that lady's bower
Was fiery Expectation's dower.
My days and nights were nothing-all
Except that hour which doth recall
In the long lapse from youth to age
No other like itself—I'd give
The Ukraine back again to live
It o'er once more, and be a page,
The happy page, who was the lord
Of one soft heart, and his own sword,
And had no other gem nor wealth
Save nature's gift of youth and health.—
We met in secret-doubly sweet,
Some say, they find it so to meet;
I know not that-I would have given
My life but to have call'd her mine
In the full view of earth and heaven;
For I did oft and long repine
That we could only meet by stealth.

VIII.

"For lovers there are many eyes,
And such there were on us: the devil
On such occasions should be civil-
The devil!-I'm loth to do him wrong;
It might be some untoward saint
Who would not be at rest too long,

But to his pious bile give vent:-
But one fair night, some lurking spies
Surprised and seized us both.

The Count was something more than wroth

I was unarm'd; but if in steel,
All cap-à-pie from head to heel,
What 'gainst their numbers could I do?
"Twas near his castle, far away

From city or from succour near,
And almost on the break of day;
I did not think to see another,

My moments seem'd reduced to few; And with one prayer to Mary Mother, And it may be a saint or two, As I resign'd me to my fate, They led me to the castle gate: Theresa's doom I never knew, Our lot was henceforth separate. An angry man, ye may opine, Was he, the proud Count Palatine; And he had reason good to be,

But he was most enraged lest such
An accident should chance to touch
Upon his future pedigree;

Nor less amazed that such a blot
His noble 'scutcheon should have got,
While he was highest of his line;

Because unto himself he seem'd

The first of men, nor less he deem'd In others' eyes, and most in mine. 'Sdeath! with a page-perchance a king Had reconciled him to the thing; But with a stripling of a page

I felt, but cannot paint, his rage.

IX.

"Bring forth the horse!' The horse was brought;

In truth, he was a noble steed,

A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,

Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild,

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
With spur
and bridle undefiled-

'Twas but a day he had been caught;
And snorting, with erected mane,
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
In the full foam of wrath and dread
To me the desert-born was led :
They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong,
Then loosed him with a sudden lash-
Away! away! and on we dash!-
Torrents less rapid and less rash.

X.

"Away! away! my breath was gone
I saw not where he hurried on:
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foam'd-away! away!
The last of human sounds which rose,
As I was darted from my foes,
Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after
A moment from that rabble rout;
With sudden wrath I wrench'd my head,
And snapp'd the cord which to the mane
Had bound my neck in lieu of rein,
And, writhing half my form about,
Howl'd back my curse; but 'midst the tread,
The thunder of my courser's speed,
Perchance they did not hear nor heed:

It vexes me-for I would fain
Have paid their insult back again.
I paid it well in after days;
There is not of that castle-gate,
Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight,
Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left;
Nor of its field a blade of grass,

Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
Where stood the hearthstone of the hall;
And many a time ye there might pass,
Nor dream that e'er that fortress was.
I saw its turrets in a blaze,
Their crackling battlements all cleft,

And the hot lead pour down like rain From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.

They little thought that day of pain, When launch'd, as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash,

That one day I should come again,
With twice five thousand horse, to thank
The Count for his uncourteous ride.
They play'd me then a bitter prank,
When, with the wild horse for my guide,
They bound me to his foaming flank.
At length I play'd them one as frank-
For time at last sets all things even-

And if we do but watch the hour,
There never yet was human power
Which could evade, if unforgiven,
The patient search and vigil long
Of him who treasures up a wrong.

XI.

"Away, away, my steed and I,

Upon the pinions of the wind, All human dwellings left behind; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is chequer'd with the northern light; Town-village-none were on our track, But a wild plain of far extent, And bounded by a forest black;

And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some stronghold, Against the Tartars built of old, No trace of man. The year before A Turkish army had marched o'er; And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, The verdure flies the bloody sod;The sky was dull, and dim, and grey, And a low breeze crept moaning byI could have answered with a sighBut fast we fled, away, away,And I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane; But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career; At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slacken'd in his speed: But no-my bound and slender frame Was nothing to his angry might, And merely like a spur became; Each motion which I made to free My swoll'n limbs from their agony Increased his fury and affright;

I tried my voice-'twas faint and low,
But yet he swerv'd as from a blow;
And, starting to each accent sprang
As from a sudden trumpet's clang;
Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er;
And in my tongue the thirst became
A something fierier than flame.

XII.

"We near❜d the wild wood-'twas so wide,
I saw no bounds on either side;
'Twas studded with old sturdy trees,
That bent not to the roughest breeze
Which howls down from Siberia's waste,
And strips the forest in its haste,—
But these were few and far between,
Set thick with shrubs more young and green,
Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
Ere strewn by those autumnal eves
That nip the forest's foliage dead,
Discolour'd with a lifeless red,
Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore
Upon the slain when battle's o'er,
And some long winter's night hath shed
Its frosts o'er every tombless head,
So cold and stark the raven's beak
May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:
"Twas a wild waste of underwood,
And here and there a chestnut stood,
The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
But far apart-and well it were,
Or else a different lot were mine-

The boughs gave way, and did not tear
My limbs; and I found strength to bear
My wounds, already scarr'd with cold-
My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
By night I heard them on the track,
Their troop came hard upon our back,
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire:
Where'er we flew they follow'd on,
Nor left us with the morning sun;
Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,
At daybreak winding through the wood,
And through the night had heard their feet
Their stealing, rustling step repeat.
Oh! how I wish'd for spear or sword,
At least to die amidst the horde,
And perish-if it must be so-
At bay, destroying many a foe.
When first my courser's race begun,
I wish'd the goal already won;
But now I doubted strength and speed.
Vain doubt! his swift and
breed
savage
Had nerved him like the mountain roe;
Nor faster falls the blinding snow
Which whelms the peasant near the door
Whose threshold he shall cross no more,
Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast,
Than through the forest-paths he pass'd,
Untired, untamed, and worse than wild;
All furious as a favour'd child
Balk'd of its wish; or fiercer still-
A woman piqued-who has her will.

XIII.

"The wood was pass'd; 'twas more than noon,
But chill the air, although in June;
Or it might be my veins ran cold-
Prolong'd endurance tames the bold;
And I was then not what I seem,
But headlong as a wintry stream,
And wore my feelings out before

I well could count their causes o'er:
And what with fury, fear, and wrath,
The tortures which beset my path,
Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress,
Thus bound in nature's nakedness;
Sprung from a race whose rising blood,
When stirred beyond its calmer mood,
And trodden hard upon, is like
The rattlesnake's, in act to strike,
What marvel if this worn-out trunk
Beneath its woes a moment sunk?
The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round,
I seem'd to sink upon the ground;
But err'd, for I was fastly bound.
My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore,
And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more:
The skies spun like a mighty wheel;
I saw the trees like drunkards reel,
And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,
Which caw no further: he who dies
Can die no more than then I died.
O'ertortured by that ghastly ride
I felt the blackness come and go,

And strove to wake; but could not make
My senses climb up from below:
I felt as on a plank at sea,
When all the waves that dash o'er thee
At the same time upheave and whelm,
And hurl thee towards a desert realm.
My undulating life was as

The fancied lights that flitting pass
Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when
Fever begins upon the brain;
But soon it pass'd, with little pain,

But a confusion worse than such :
I own that I should deem it much,
Dying, to feel the same again;
And yet I do suppose we must
Feel far more ere we turn to dust:
No matter; I have bared my brow
Full in Death's face-before-and now.

XIV.

"My thoughts came back; where was I? cold,
And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse
Life reassumed its lingering hold,
And throb by throb-till grown a pang

Which for a moment would convulse,
My blood reflow'd, though thick and chill;
My ear with uncouth noises rang,

My heart began once more to thrill; My sight return'd, though dim,alas! And thicken'd, as it were, with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam, too, of the sky Studded with stars ;-it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream! The bright, broad river's gushing tide Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide,

And we are half-way, struggling o'er
To yon unknown and silent shore.
The waters broke my hollow trance,
And with a temporary strength

My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized,
My courser's broad breast proudly braves,
And dashes off the ascending waves,
And onward we advance!

We reach the slippery shore at length,
A haven I but little prized,

For all behind was dark and drear,
And all before was night and fear.
How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew.

XV.

"With glossy skin, and dripping mane, And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank.

We gain the top; a boundless plain
Spreads through the shadow of the night,
And onward, onward, onward, seems,
Like precipices in our dreams,

To stretch beyond the sight;
And here and there a speck of white,
Or scatter'd spot of dusky green,
In masses broke into the light,
As rose the moon upon my right:
But nought distinctly seen
In the dim waste would indicate
The omen of a cottage gate;
No twinkling taper from afar
Stood like a hospitable star;
Not even an ignis-fatuus rose
To make him merry with my woes:

That very cheat had cheer'd me then!
Although detected, welcome still,
Reminding me, through every ill,
Of the abodes of men.

XVI.

"Onward we went, but slack and slow;
His savage force at length o'erspent,
The drooping cours er, faint and low,
All feebly foaming went.

A sickly infant had had power
To guide him forward in that hour;
But useless all to me :

His new-born tameness nought avail'd-
My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd,
Perchance, had they been free.
With feeble effort still I tried
To rend the bonds so starkly tied,
But still it was in vain;
My limbs were only wrung the more,
And soon the idle strife gave o'er,

Which but prolonged their pain;
The dizzy race seem'd almost done,
Although no goal was nearly won:
Some streaks announced the coming sun-
How slow, alas, he came !
Methought that mist of dawning grey
Would never dapple into day;
How heavily it roll'd away-

Before the eastern flame