Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed, But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed, And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride, 30 And to the battle ride. No pitying voice commands a halt, No courage can repel the dire assault; Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind, Whole legions sink--and, in one instant, find 35 Burial and death: look for them--and descry, When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky, A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy! The French "retreat from Moscow was perhaps the most disastrous on record since the days of Xerxes.... On the night of 6th November, the temperature suddenly fell to that of the most rigorous winter. In that dreadful night thousands of men perished, and nearly all the horses, which compelled the abandonment of the greater part of the convoys. From this point the road began to be strewn with corpses, presenting the aspect of one continuous battlefield.... At Smolensk the cold was at 20 degrees of Réaumur." (Dyer's _History of Modern Europe_, vol. iv. pp. 518, 519.)--ED. VARIANTS: [Footnote 160: 1827. The original title was _Composed in Recollection of the Expedition of the French into Russia. February 1816._ 1816. ] [Footnote 161: 1820. Hath painted Winter like a shrunken, old, And close-wrapt Traveller--through the weary day-- Propped on a staff, and limping o'er the Plain, 1816. ] ON THE SAME OCCASION[162] Composed 1816.--Published 1816 One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."--ED. Ye Storms, resound the praises of your King! And ye mild Seasons--in a sunny clime, Midway on some high hill, while father Time Looks on delighted--meet in festal ring, And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing! 5 Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers, Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers, And the dire flapping of his hoary wing! Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass; With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain; 10 Whisper it to the billows of the main, And to the aërial zephyrs as they pass, That old decrepit Winter--_He_ hath slain That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain! [Footnote 162: 1820. The title in 1816 was _Sonnet on the same occasion. February 1816._ ] SIEGE OF VIENNA RAISED BY JOHN SOBIESKI[BV] FEBRUARY, 1816 Composed February 4, 1816.--Published 1816 One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."--ED.