XIX. XX. The rest were Jacks and Gills, and Wills and Bills; And that his father was an honest blacksmith, XXI. I wonder (although Mars no doubt's a god I Because, though I am but a simple noddy, I think one Shakspeare puts the same thought in The mouth of some one in his plays so doating, Which many people pass for wits by quoting. XXII. Then there were Frenchmen, gallant, young, and XXIII. The Russians, having built two batteries on XXIV. The second object was to profit by The moment of the general consternation, To attack the Turk's flotilla, which lay nigh, Extremely tranquil, anchor'd at its station: But a third motive was as probably To frighten them into capitulation ; A phantasy which sometimes seizes warriors, XXV. A habit rather blameable, which is That of despising those we combat with, Common in many cases, was in this I think that several volumes would fall short, The cause of killing Tchitchitzkoff and Smith; And I should still have many things to say; One of the valorous "Smiths" whom we shall miss And so he says no more-but pays his court Out of those nineteen who late rhymed to "pith;" To some distinguish'd strangers in that fray, But 'tis a name so spread o'er "Sir" and "Madam," The Prince de Ligne, and Langeron, and Damas, That one would think the first who bore it "Adam." Names great as any that the roll of fame has XXXIII. This being the case, may show us what fame is : For out of three " preux Chevaliers," how Many of common readers give a guess That such existed? (and they may live now For aught we know.) Renown's all hit or miss; There's fortune even in fame, we must allow. 'Tis true the Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne Have half withdrawn from him oblivion's screen. XXXIV. But here are men who fought in gallant actions Their names are seldom found, nor often sought. You can't repeat nine names from each gazette. XXXV. In short, this last attack, though rich in giory, I doubt few readers e'er would mount the breach. XXXVI. There was a man, if that he was a man, Not that his manhood could be call'd in question. For, had he not been Hercules, his span Had been as short in youth as indigestion Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan, He died beneath a tree, as much unbless'd on The soil of the green province he had wasted, As e'er was locust on the land it blasted ; XXXVII. This was Poten kin--a great thing in days XXXVIII. While things were in abeyance, Ribas sent In the mean time the batteries proceeded, And fourscore cannon on the Danube's border Were briskly fired and answer'd in due order. XXXIX. But on the thirteenth, when already part Of the troops were embark'd, the siege to raise, A courier on the spur inspired new heart Into all panters for newspaper praise, As well as dilettanti in war's art, By his despatches couch'd in pithy phrase, Announcing the appointment of that lover of Battles to the command, Field-Marshal Suvaroff. XL. The letter of the prince to the same marshal But as it was mere lust of power to o'er-arch all XLI. Let there be light!" said God, "and there was light!" "Let there be blood!" says man, and there's a sea. The fiat of this spoil'd child of the night (For day ne'er saw his merits) could decree More evil in an hour, than thirty bright Summers could renovate, though they should be Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's fruitFor war cuts up not only branch but root. XLII. Our friends the Turks, who with loud "Allahs" now In thinking that their enemy is beat, I never think about it in a heat;) But here I say the Turks were much mistaken, Who, hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their bacon. XLIII. For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop drew In sight two horsemen, who were deem'd Cossacks For some time, till they came in nearer view. They had but little baggage at their backs, "Great joy to London now!" says some great fool, Is of all dreams the first hallucination; So that the streets of color'd lamps are full, That sage (said John) surrenders at discretion His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his nonsense, To gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense. XLV. "Tis strange that he should further "damn his eyes,' For they are damn'd: that once all-famous oath Is to the devil now no further prize, Since John has lately lost the use of both. Debt he calls wealth, and taxes paradise; And Famine, with her gaunt and bony growth, Which stares him in the face, he won't examine, Or swear that Ceres hath begotten Famine. XLVI. But to the tale. Great joy unto the camp! To Russian, Tartar, English, French, Cossack O'er whom Suwarrow shone like a gas lamp, Presaging a most luminous attack; Or, like a wisp along the marsh so damp, Which leads beholders on a boggy walk, He flitted to and fro, a dancing light, Which all who saw it follow'd, wrong or right. XLVII. But certes matters took a different face ; They drew, constructed ladders, repair'd flaws XLVIII. 'Tis thus the spirit of a single mind Makes that of multitudes take one direction, As roll the waters to the breathing wind, Or roams the herd beneath the bull's protection: Or a bellwether form the flock's connection XLIX. The whole camp rung with joy; you would have That they were going to a marriage-feast, [thought (This metaphor, I think, holds good as aught, Since there is discord after both at least :) There was not now a luggage-boy but sought Danger and spoil with ardor much increased; And why? because a little, odd, old man, Stript to his shirt, was come to lead the van. L. But so it was; and every preparation Was made with all alacrity; the first Was also in three columns, with a thirst LI. New batteries were erected; and was held A general council, in which unanimity, Glory began to dawn with due sublimity, LII. It is an actual fact, that he, commander- To swallow flame, and never take it ill; LIII. Also he dress'd up, for the nonce, fascines Like men, with turbans, scimitars, and dirks, "Your names?"-" Mine's Johnson, and my com- The other two are women, and the third At which your wise men sneer'd, in phrases witty :- He made no answer; but he took the city. In the Nikolaiew regiment?' "The same.” LXI. LXVIII. 'You served at Widdin?"-"Yes."-" You led O'er the promoted couple of brave men the attack?" [know." Who were thus honor'd by the greatest chief "I did."-"What next?"-"I really hardly That ever peopled hell with heroes slain, 'You were the first i' the breach?"-"I was not slack, At least, to follow those who might be so.”— 'What follow'd?"" A shot laid me on my back, And I became a prisoner to the foe."- [rounded "You shall have vengeance, for the town surIs twice as strong as that where you were wounded. "Right! I was busy, and forgot. Why you The stranger stripling may remain with me; But here a sort of scene began to ensue: Or plunged a province or a realm in grief. Suwarrow, who had small regard for tears, [trade Men's hearts against whole millions, when their LXX. He said-and in the kindest Calmuc tone— Why, Johnson, what the devil do you mean By bringing women here? They shall be shown All the attention possible, and seen In safety to the wagons, where alone In fact they can be safe. You should have been LXXI. "May it please your excellency," thus replied By service with my military brothers, LXXII. "But these are but two Turkish ladies, who To them, poor things! it is an awkward step; LXXIII. Meantime, these two poor girls, with swimming eyes, In aspect, plainly clad, besmeared with dust, LXXIV. For every thing seem'd resting on his nod, To see the sultan, rich in many a gem, (That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,) LXXV. Don Juan, who was much more sentimental, Swore they should see him by the dawn of day, Or that the Russian army should repent all: And, strange to say, they found some consolation In this for females like exaggeration. LXXVI. LXXXII. Oh, ye great bulletins of Buonaparte ! Shadows of glory! (lest I be confounded) And then, with tears, and sighs, and some slight When I call "fading" martial immortality, kisses, They parted for the present-these to await, According to the artillery's hits or misses, What sages call Chance, Providence, or Fate(Uncertainty is one of many blisses, A mortgage on Humanity's estate)-While their beloved friends began to arm, To burn a town which never did them harm. LXXVII. Suwarrow, who but saw things in the gross→ Being much too gross to see them in detail; Who calculated life as so much dross, And as the wind a widow'd nation's wail, And cared as little for his army's loss (So that their efforts should at length prevail) As wife and friends did for the boils of Job;What was 't to him to hear two women sob? LXXVIII. Nothing. The work of glory still went on, As terrible as that of Ilion, If Homer had found mortar's ready made; But now, instead of slaying Priam's son, We only can but talk of escalade, [bullets, Bombs, drums, guns, bastions, batteries, bayonets, Hard words which stick in the soft Muses' gullets. LXXIX. Oh, thou eternal Homer! who couldst charm I mean, that every age and every year, And almost every day, in sad reality, Some sucking hero is compell'd to rear, Who, when we come to sum up the totality Of deeds to human happiness most dear, Turns out to be a butcher in great business, Afflicting young folks with a sort of dizziness LXXXIV. Medals, ranks, ribbands, lace, embroidery, scarlet, As purple to the Babylonian harlot: To women: there is scarce a crimson varlet LXXXV. At least he feels it, and some say he sees, This canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue. The next shall ring a peal to shake all people, Like a bob-major from a village steeple. LXXXVI. Hark! through the silence of the cold dull night, All ears, though long-all ages, though so short, Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight By merely wielding with poetic arm Arms to which men will never more resort, Unless gunpowder should be found to harm Much less than is the hope of every court, Which now is leagued young Freedom to annoy ; But they will not find Liberty a Troy : LXXX. Oh, thou eternal Homer! I have now To paint a siege, wherein more men were slain, With deadlier engines and a speedier blow, Than in thy Greek gazette of that campaign; And yet, like all men else, I must allow, To vie with thee, would be about as vain As for a brook to cope with ocean's flood; But still we moderns équal you in blood— LXXXI. If not in poetry, at least in fact; And fact is truth, the grand desideratum ! Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each act, There should be, ne'ertheless, a slight substratum. But now the town is going to be attack'd; Great deeds are doing-how shall I relate 'em? Souls of immortal generals! Phoebus watches To color up his rays from your despatches. Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank Of the arm'd river, while with straggling light The stars peep through the vapors dim and dank Which curl in curious wreaths-How soon the smoke Of hell shall pall them in a deeper cloak ! LXXXVII. Here pause we for the present-as even then The march the charge! the shouts of either faith |