“—Five hundred guns began the affray On next day morn at nine; Such mad and mangling cannon-play Had never torn human line. “Around the town three battles beat, Contracting like a gin; As nearer marched the million feet Of columns closing in. “The first battle nighed on the low Southern side; The second by the Western way; The nearing of the third on the North was heard: —The French held all at bay. “Against the first band did the Emperor stand; Against the second stood Ney; Marmont against the third gave the order-word: —Thus raged it throughout the day. “Fifty thousand sturdy souls on those trampled plains and knolls, Who met the dawn hopefully, And were lotted their shares in a quarrel not theirs, Dropt then in their agony. “‘O,’ the old folks said, ‘ye Preachers stern! O so-called Christian time! When will men’s swords to ploughshares turn? When come the promised prime?’ . . . “—The clash of horse and man which that day began, Closed not as evening wore; And the morrow’s armies, rear and van, Still mustered more and more. “From the City towers the Confederate Powers Were eyed in glittering lines, And up from the vast a murmuring passed As from a wood of pines. “‘’Tis well to cover a feeble skill By numbers!’ scoffèd He; ‘But give me a third of their strength, I’d fill Half Hell with their soldiery!’ [Picture: Sketch of town square, Leipzig?] “All that day raged the war they waged, And again dumb night held reign, Save that ever upspread from the dark deathbed A miles-wide pant of pain. “Hard had striven brave Ney, the true Bertrand, Victor, and Augereau, Bold Poniatowski, and Lauriston, To stay their overthrow; “But, as in the dream of one sick to death There comes a narrowing room That pens him, body and limbs and breath, To wait a hideous doom, “So to Napoleon, in the hush That held the town and towers Through these dire nights, a creeping crush Seemed inborne with the hours. “One road to the rearward, and but one, Did fitful Chance allow; ’Twas where the Pleiss’ and Elster run— The Bridge of Lindenau. “The nineteenth dawned. Down street and Platz The wasted French sank back, Stretching long lines across the Flats And on the bridge-way track; “When there surged on the sky an earthen wave, And stones, and men, as though Some rebel churchyard crew updrave Their sepulchres from below. “To Heaven is blown Bridge Lindenau; Wrecked regiments reel therefrom; And rank and file in masses plough The sullen Elster-Strom. “A gulf was Lindenau; and dead Were fifties, hundreds, tens; And every current rippled red With Marshal’s blood and men’s.