Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/245

Reckless of all, save that last, desperate chance—
Rush, struggle, strive, the powerful thrust the weak,
And crush the dying.
                                    Hark! a thundering crash,
A cry of horror! Down the broken bridge
Sinks, and the wretched multitude plunge deep
'Neath the devouring tide. That piercing shriek
With which they took their farewell of the sky
Did haunt the living, as some doleful ghost
Troubleth the fever-dream. Some for a while,
With ice and death contending, sink and rise,
While some in wilder agony essay
To hold their footing on that tossing mass
Of miserable life, making their path
O'er palpitating bosoms. 'Tis in vain!
The keen pang passes and the satiate flood
Shuts silent o'er its prey.
                                          The severed host
Stand gazing on each shore. The gulph—the dead
Forbid their union. One sad throng is warned
To Russia's dungeons, one with shivering haste
Spread o'er the wild, through toil and pain to hew
Their many roads to death. From desert plains,
From sacked and solitary villages
Gaunt Famine springs to sieze them; Winter's wrath,
Unresting day or night, with blast and storm,
And one eternal magazine of frost,
Smites the astonished victims.
                                                  God of Heaven!
Warrest thou with France, that thus thine elements
Do fight against her sons? Yet on they press,
Stern, rigid, silent—every bosom steeled
By the strong might of its own misery
Against all sympathy of kindred ties.
The brother on his fainting brother treads—
Friend tears from friend the garment and the bread—
That last, scant morsel, which his quivering lip