By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
Of dreadful sacrifice, by Russian blood
Lavished in fight with desperate hardihood;
The unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
To rob our Human-nature of just praise
For what she did and suffered. Pledges sure
Of a deliverance absolute and pure
She gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways
Of Providence. But now did the Most High
Exalt his still small voice;-to quell that Host
Gathered his power, a manifest ally;
He, whose heaped waves confounded the proud boast
Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost,
Finish the strife by deadliest victory!'
More verses by William Wordsworth
- To The Cuckoo
- The Trosachs
- From The Dark Chambers Of Dejection Freed
- Composed Near Calais, On The Road Leading To Ardres, August 7, 1802
- Young England--What Is Then Become Of Old