CX. That drinks and still is dry. At last they perish'd :— His third was sabred; and the fourth, most cherish'd CXI. The eldest was a true and tameless Tartar, Who only saw the black-eyed girls in green, CXII. And what they pleased to do with the young khan To tough old heroes, and can do no less; And that's the cause, no doubt, why, if we scan For one rough, weather-beaten, veteran body, You'll find ten thousand handsome coxcombs bloody. CXIII. Your houris also have a natural pleasure In lopping off your lately married men Before the bridal hours have danced their measure, And the sad second moon grows dim again, CXIV. Thus the young khan, with houris in his sight, Thought not upon the charms of four young brides, But bravely rush'd on his first heavenly night. In short, howe'er our better faith derides, These black-eyed virgins make the Moslems fight, As though there were one heaven and none besides, Whereas, if all be true we hear of heaven And hell, there must at least be six or seven. CXV. So fully flash'd the phantom on his eyes, With all its veil of mystery drawn apart, On his soul, like a ceaseless sunrise, dart,With prophets, houris, angels, saints descried In one voluptuous blaze,—and then he died: CXVI. But, with a heavenly rapture on his face, The good old khan-who long had ceased to see Houris, or aught except his florid race, Who grew like cedars round him gloriously— The earth, which he became like a fell'd tree, CXVII. The soldiers, who beheld him drop his point, As he before had done. He did not heed CXVIII. But 't was a transient tremor :-with a spring Against the light wherein she dies: he clung Unto the bayonets which had pierced his young; And, throwing back a dim look on his sons, In one wide wound pour'd forth his soul at once. CXIX. 'T is strange enough-the rough, tough soldiers, who Touch'd by the heroism of him they slew, Were melted for a moment; though no tear Flow'd from their blood-shot eyes, all red with strife, They honour'd such determined scorn of life. CXX. But the stone bastion still kept up its fire, If yet the city's rest were won or lost; CXXI. In the mean time, cross-legg'd, with great sang-froid, Saw nothing like the scene around;—yet, looking CXXII. The town was taken-whether he might yield Ismail 's no more! The crescent's silver bow CXXIII. All that the mind would shrink from of excesses; CXXIV. If here and there some transient trait of pity Was shown, and some more noble heart broke through Its bloody bond, and saved perhaps some pretty Child, or an aged helpless man or two What's this in one annihilated city, Where thousand loves, and ties, and duties grow? Cockneys of London! Muscadins of Paris! Just ponder what a pious pastime war is. CXXV. Think how the joys of reading a gazette Such doom may be your own in after times, CXXVI. But still there is unto a patriot nation, Which loves so well its country and its king, A subject of sublimest exultation Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing! Howe'er the mighty locust, Desolation, Strip your green fields, and to your harvests cling, Gaunt Famine never shall approach the throne Though Ireland starve, great George weighs twenty stone. CXXVII. But let me put an end unto my theme: There was an end of Ismail-hapless town! Far flash'd her burning towers o'er Danube's stream, The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall, Some bundreds breathed-the rest were silent all! CXXVIII. In one thing ne'ertheless 't is fit to praise And therefore worthy of commemoration : CXXIX. Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less As when the French, that dissipated nation, Except cold weather and commiseration; But all the ladies, save some twenty score, Were almost as much virgins as before. CXXX. Some odd mistakes too happen'd in the dark, Which show'd a want of lanthorns, or of tasteIndeed the smoke was such they scarce could mark Their friends from foes,-besides such things from haste Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark Of light to save the venerably chaste :— But six old damsels, each of seventy years, Were all deflower'd by different grenadiers. CXXXI. But on the whole their continence was great; Of" single blessedness," and thought it good (Since it was not their fault, but only fate, To bear these crosses) for each waning prude To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding, Without the expense and the suspense of bedding. CXXXII. Some voices of the buxom middle-aged Were also heard to wonder in the din (Widows of forty were these birds long caged) "Wherefore the ravishing did not begin!" But, while the thirst for gore and plunder raged, There was small leisure for superfluous sin ; But whether they escaped or no, lies hid In darkness-I can only hope they did. CXXXIII. Suwarrow now was conqueror—a match and streets, beneath his eyes, like thatch Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce allay'd, With bloody hands he wrote his first dispatch; 66 And here exactly follows what he said : Glory to God and to the Empress!" (Powers Eternal! such names mingled!) "Ismail 's ours!" CXXXIV. Methinks these are the most tremendous words, Heaven help me! I'm but little of a parson : |