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, Or dull repentance hath had dreary leisure

To wish him backs a bachelor now and then: And thus your houri (it may be) disputes Of these brief blossoms the immediate fruits. 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.

In the meantime, cross-legg'd, with great sangfroid,

Among the scorching ruins he sat smoking Tobacco on a little carpet. Troy

Saw nothing like the scene around; yet looking

With martial stoicism, nought seem'd to annoy
His stern philosophy; but gently stroking
His beard, he puff'd his pipe's ambrosial gales,
As if he had three lives, as well as tails.
CXXII.

The town was taken-whether he might yield
Himself or bastion, little matter'd now;
His stubborn valour was no further shield.

Ismail's no more! the crescent's silver bow Sunk, and the crimson cross glared o'er the field, But red with no redeeming gore: the glow Of burning streets, like moonlight on the water, Was imaged back in blood, the sea of slaughter.

CXXIII.

see

XXII.

However, the poor jackals are less foul (As being the brave lion's keen providers) Than human insects, catering for spiders.

XXVIII.

Raise but an arm, 'twill brush their web away; And without that, their poison and their claws

poem

For I maintain that it is really good, Not only in the body, but the proem, However little both are understood

'em

Herself in her sublimest attitude;

And till she doth, I fain must be content To share her beauty and her banishment.

XXIII.

Our hero (and, I trust, kind reader, yours)
Was left upon his way to the chief city
Of the immortal Peter's polish'd boors,

Who still have shown themselves more brave than witty.

I know its mighty empire now allures

Much flattery-even Voltaire's, and that's a pity.

For me, I deem an absolute autocrat

Not a barbarian, but much worse than that.
XXIV.

And I will war, at least in words (and-should
My chance so happen-deeds), with all who

Between these nations as a main of cocks, Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks. XXX.

And there in a kibitka he roll'd on

(A cursed sort of carriage without springs, Which on rough roads leaves scarcely a whole bone),

Pondering on glory, chivalry, and kings, And orders, and on all that he had done;

And wishing that post-horses had the wings Of Pegasus, or, at the least, post-chaises Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways is.