XII.

But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge,
And walls as thick as most skulls born as yet:
Two batteries, cap-à-pie, as our St George,

Casemated one, and t'other à barbette,
Of Danube's bank took formidable charge;
While two-and-twenty cannon, duly set,
Rose over the town's right side, in bristling tier,
Forty feet high, upon a cavalier.

XIII.

But from the river the town's open quite,
Because the Turks could never be persuaded
A Russian vessel e'er would heave in sight;
And such their creed was, till they were in-
vaded,

When it grew rather late to set things right.

But as the Danube could not well be waded,
They look'd upon the Muscovite flotilla,
And only shouted 'Allah!' and 'Bis Millah!'

XIV.

The Russians now were ready to attack;
But, O ye goddesses of war and glory,
How shall I spell the name of each Cossacque,
Who were immortal, could one tell their story?
Alas! what to their memory can lack?

Achilles' self was not more grim and gory
Than thousands of this new and polish'd nation,
Whose names want nothing but-pronunciation.

XV.

Still I'll record a few, if but to increase

Out of their hides, if parchment had grown dear,
And no more handy substitute been near.

XVIII.

Then there were foreigners of much renown,
Of various nations, and all volunteers;
Not fighting for their country or its crown,
But wishing to be one day brigadiers;
Also to have the sacking of a town,

A pleasant thing to young men at their years.
'Mongst them were several Englishmen of path,
Sixteen call'd Thomson, and nineteen named
Smith.

XIX.

Jack Thomson and Bill Thomson-all the rest
Had been call'd 'Jemmy, after the great bard:
I don't know whether they had arms or crest,
But such a godfather's as good a card.
Three of the Smiths were Peters; but the best
Amongst them all, hard blows to inflict of
ward,

Was he, since so renown'd 'in country quarters
At Halifax; but now he served the Tartars.

XX.

The rest were Jacks, and Gills, and Wills, and
Bills;

But when I've added that the elder Jack Smith
Was born in Cumberland, among the hills,
And that his father was an honest blacksmith,
I've said all I know of a name that fills
Three lines of the despatch in taking
'Schmacksmith,'

Our euphony: there was Strongenoff, and A village of Moldavia's waste, wherein

Strokonoff,

He fell, immortal in a bulletin.