THE MARCH TO MOSCOW.

The Emperor Nap he would set off
On a summer excursion to Moscow;
The fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!

Four hundred thousand men and more
Must go with him to Moscow:
There were Marshals by the dozen,
And Dukes by the score;
Princes a few, and Kings one or two;
While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu !

What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!

There was Junot and Augereau,
Heigh-ho for Moscow!
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,
Marshal Ney, lack-a-day!

General Rapp, and the Emperor Nap;
Nothing would do,

While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

The Emperor Nap he talk'd so big
That he frighten'd Mr. Roscoe.1
John Bull, he cries, if you'll be wise,
Ask the Emperor Nap if he will please
To grant you peace, upon your knees,
Because he is going to Moscow !

He'll make all the Poles come out of their holes,
And beat the Russians, and eat the Prussians;
For the fields are green, and the sky is blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

And he'll certainly march to Moscow!

And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume
At the thought of the march to Moscow:
The Russians, he said, they were undone,
And the great Fee-Faw-Fum
Would presently come,

With a hop, step, and jump, unto London.
For, as for his conquering Russia,
However some persons might scoff it,

Do it he could, and do it he would,

And from doing it nothing would come but good,
And nothing could call him off' it.

1 William Roscoe, author of the Life of Lorenzo de Medici, who was a warm friend of the French Revolution.

Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know,
For he was the Edinburgh Prophet.
They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review,
Which with Holy Writ ought to be reckon'd:
It was, through thick and thin, to its party true;
Its back was buff, and its sides were blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu !

It served them for Law and for Gospel too.'

But the Russians stontly they turn'd to
Upon the road to Moscow.

Nap had to fight his way all through;

They could fight, though they could not parlez-vous;
But the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

And so he got to Moscow.

He found the place too warm for him,
For they set fire to Moscow.

To get there had cost him much ado,
And then no better course he knew,

While the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

But to march back again from Moscow.

The Russians they stuck close to him
All on the road from Moscow.
There was Tormazow and Jemalow,
And all the others that end in ow;
Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch,
And Karatschkowitch,

And all the others that end in itch;
Schamscheff, Souchosaneff,
And Schepaleff,

And all the others that end in eff;
Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff,
And Tchoglokoff,

And all the others that end in off;
Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky,
And Rieffsky,

And all the others that end in effsky;
Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,

And all the others that end in offsky;
And Platoff he play'd them off,
And Shouvaloff he shovell'd them off,
And Markoff he mark'd them off,
And Krosnoff he cross'd them off,
And Tuchkoff he touch'd them off,
And Boroskoff he bored them off,
And Kutousoff he cut them off,
And Parenzoff he pared them off,
And Worronzoff he worried them off,
And Doctoroff he doctor'd them off,
And Rodionoff he flogg'd them off.

1 This is a side cut at the " Edinburgh," in return for some of its caustic criticisms.

And, last of all, an Admiral came,

A terrible man with a terrible name,

A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
They stuck close to Nap with all their might;
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and by night;
He would rather parlez-vous than fight;
But he look'd white, and he look'd blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

When parlez-vous no more would do,
For they remember'd Moscow.

And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow.

The wind and the weather he found, in that hour,
Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power;
For him who, while Europe crouch'd under his rod,
Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God.
Worse and worse every day the elements grew,
The fields were so white, and the sky so blue,
Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!

What a horrible journey from Moscow!

What then thought the Emperor Nap
Upon the road from Moscow?

Why, I ween he thought it small delight
To fight all day, and to freeze all night;
And he was besides in a very great fright,
For a whole skin he liked to be in;
And so, not knowing what else to do,

When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

He stole away-I tell you true

Upon the road from Moscow.

'Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most; So the Devil may take the hindmost.

Train up thy children, England, in the ways
Of righteousness, and feed them with the bread
Of wholesome doctrine. Send thy swarms abroad!
Send forth thy humanizing arts,
Thy stirring enterprise,

Thy liberal polity, thy gospel light!
Illume the dark idolater,

Reclaim the savage! O thou Ocean Queen!
Be these thy toils when thou hast laid
The thunderbolt aside:

He who hath bless'd thine arms

Will bless thee in these holy works of Peace!
Father! thy kingdom come, and as in heaven
Thy will be done on earth.

As a prose writer, scarcely any other author of the nineteenth century has written upon more, or more varied, subjects; and all his writings are marked by an easy, flowing style, extensive reading, and a vein of poetical feeling that runs through the whole, whether critical, historical, or political. Besides his numerous contributions to the Quarterly Review, mentioned in the note on page 316, he has published the following:

History of Brazil, three volumes; History of the Peninsular War, two volumes; Book of the Church; Life of Lord Nelson; Letters from England, by Don Manuel Alvarez Espriella, three volumes,-a series of observations on English manners and the prospects of England; Letters from Spain and Portugal, two volumes; Omniana, a collection of critical remarks and curious quotations; The Doctor, five volumes," a work partly fictitious, but abounding in admirable description and quaint fanciful delineation of character;" Progress and Prospects of Society, two volumes; Essays, Moral, and Political, two volumes; Lives of Uneducated Poets; Life of Cowper, and an edition of his works, in fifteen volumes. These, and various minor prose works, are proofs alike of his wonderful, untiring industry, and of the easy and admirable English style of which he was so consummate a master.

DEATH OF LORD NELSON.

It had been part of Nelson's prayer, that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on the Redoubtable, supposing that she had struck, because her guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball fired from her mizen-top, which, in the then situation of the two I vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action.

He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him up. "They have done for me at last, Hardy," said he. "I hope not," cried Hardy. "Yes!" he replied; "my back-bone is shot through." Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller-ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately: then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honor from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him and attend to those to whom he might be useful; "for," said he, "you can do nothing for me." All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory hurraed; and at every hurra, a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero. But he became impatient to see Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried, "Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely dead!" An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence; Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful and yet sublimest moment. "Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the day with us?” "Very well," replied Hardy; "ten ships have struck, but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon the Victory. I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I hope," said Nelson, none of our ships have struck." Hardy answered, "there was no fear of that." Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. "I am a dead man, Hardy," said he; I am going fast: it will be all over with me soon. Come nearer to me.' *** Hardy then, once more,

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