'Twas after dread Pultowa's[124] day, When Fortune left the royal Swede. Around a slaughter'd army lay, No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war, 5 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,[125] And a more memorable year, 10 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[126]; 15 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 20 Ambition in his humbled hour, When truth had naught to dread from power. His horse was slain, and Gieta[127] gave His own--and died the Russians' slave. This too sinks after many a league 25 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. 30 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-- 35 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, 40 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