LXXII.

« But these are but two Turkish ladies, who
With their attendant aided our escape,
And afterwards accompanied us through
A thousand perils in this dubious shape.
To me this kind of life is not so new,

To them, poor things! it is an awkward step;
I therefore, if you wish me to fight freely,
Request that they may both be used genteelly.»
LXXIII.

Meantime, these two poor girls, with swimming eyes,
Look'd on as if in doubt if they could trust
Their own protectors; nor was their surprise
Less than their grief (and truly not less just)
To see an old man, rather wild than wise

In aspect, plainly clad, besmear'd with dust,
Stript to his waistcoat, and that not too clean,
More fear'd than all the sultans ever seen.
LXXIV.

For every thing seem'd resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now, to them,
Who were accustom'd, as a sort of god,

To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,
Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad

(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem),
With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt
How power could condescend to do without.
LXXV.

John Johnson, seeing their extreme dismay
Though little versed in feelings oriental,
Suggested some slight comfort in his way.

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.

LXXIX.

Oh, thou eternal Homer! who couldst charm
All ears, though long,-all ages, though so short,
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 abont as vain As for a brook to cope with ocean's flood; But still we moderns equal 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 colour up his rays from your dispatches.

LXXXII.

Oh, ye great bulletins of Bonaparte!

Oh, ye less grand long lists of kill'd and wounded! Shade of Leonidas! who fought so hearty,

When my poor Greece was once, as now, surrounded! Oh, Cæsar's Commentaries! now impart ye,

Shadows of glory! (lest I be confounded)

A portion of your fading twilight hues,
So beautiful, so fleeting, to the Muse.
LXXXIII

I mean, that every age and every year, And almost every day, in sad reality,

A mortgage on Humanity's estate)While their beloved friends began to arm, To burn a town which never did them harm.

LXXVH.

Suwarrow, who hut 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?

LXXVIH.

Nothing. The work of glory still went on
In preparations for a cannonade
As terrible as that of lion,

If Homer had found mortars ready made;
But now, instead of slaving Priam's son,
We only can but talk of escalade,

Bombs,drums, guns,bastions, batteries, bayonets, bullets,
Hard words which stick in the soft Muses' gullets.

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, riband lace, embroidery, scarlet,
Are things immortal to immortal man,
As purple to the Babylonian harlot :

An uniform to boys is like a fan
To women; there is scarce a crimson varlet
But deems himself the first in glory's vau.
But glory's glory; and if you would find
What that is-ask the pig who sees the wind!
LXXXV.

At least he feels it, and some say he sees,
Because he runs before it like a pig;
Or, if that simple sentence should displease,
Say that he scuds before it like a brig,
A schooner, or-but it is time to ease

This Canto, cre my Muse perceives fatigue. The next shall ring a peal to shake all people, Like a bob-major from a village-steeple.

V.

And such they are-and such they will be found.
Not so Leonidas and Washington,
Whose every battle-field is holy ground,

Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!

While the mere victor's may appal or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watch-word till the future shall be free.
VI.

The night was dark, and the thick mist allow'd
Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame,
Which arch'd the horizon like a fiery cloud,

And in the Danube's waters shone the same,
A mirror'd hell! The volleying roar, and loud

Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame The ear far more than thunder; for Heaven's flashes Spare, or smite rarely-Man's make millions ashes!

VII.

The column order'd on the assault scarce pass'd

Beyond the Russian batteries a few toises, When up the bristling Moslem rose at last,

Answering the christian thunders with like voices; Then one vast fire, air, earth, and stream embraced, Which rock'd as 't were beneath the mighty noises; While the whole rampart blazed like Etna, when The restless Titan hiccups in his den.

VIII.

And one enormous shout of « Allah!» rose
In the same moment, loud as even the roar
Of war's most mortal engines, to their foes

Hurling defiance: city, stream, and shore Resounded « Allah!» and the clouds, which close With thickening canopy the conflict o'er, Vibrate to the Eternal Name. Hark! through All sounds it pierceth, « Allah! Allah! Hu!»

IX.

The columns were in movement, one and all:
But, of the portion which attack'd by water,
Thicker than leaves the lives began to fall,
Though led by Arseniew, that great son of slaughter,
As brave as ever faced both bomb and ball.

« Carnage (so Wordsworth tells you) is God's daughter:»

If he speak truth, she is Christ's sister, and
Just now behaved as in the Holy Land.

X.

The Prince de Ligne was wounded in the knee; Count Chapeau-Bras too had a ball between Ilis cap and head, which proves the head to be Aristocratic as was ever seen,

Because it then received no injury

More than the cap; in fact the ball could mean No harm unto a right legitimate head:

« Ashes to ashes»-why not lead to lead?

XI.

Also the General Markow, Brigadier,

Insisting on removal of the prince,
Amidst some groaning thousands dying near,-
All common fellows, who might writhe and wince
And shriek for water into a deaf ear,-

The General Markow, who could thus evince
His sympathy for rank, by the same token,
To teach him greater, had his own leg broken.

XIX.

Juan and Johnson join'd a certain corps,

And fought away with might and main, not knowing The way which they had never trod before,

And still less guessing where they might be going; But on they march'd, dead bodies trampling o'er, Firing, and thrusting, slashing, sweating, glowing, But fighting thoughtlessly enough to win, To their two selves, one whole bright bulletin. XX.

Thus on they wallow'd in the bloody mire

Of dead and dying thousands,-sometimes gaining A yard or two of ground, which brought them nigher To some odd angle for which all were straining; At other times, repulsed by the close fire,

Which really pour'd as if all hell were raining, Instead of heaven, they stumbled backwards o'er A wounded comrade, sprawling in his gore.

ΧΧΙ.

Though it was Don Juan's first of fields, and though
The nightly muster and the silent march
In the chill dark, when courage does not glow
So much as under a triumphal arch,
Perhaps might make him shiver, yawn, or throw

A glance on the dull clouds (as thick as starch, Which stiffen'd heaven) as if he wish'd for day— Yet for all this he did not run away.

XXII.

Indeed he could not. But what if he had

There have been and are heroes who begun

With something not much better, or as bad: Frederick the Great from Molwitz deign'd to run,

For the first and last time; for, like a pad,

Or hawk, or bride, most mortals, after one Warm bout, are broken into their new tricks, And fight like fiends for pay or politics.

XXIII.

He was what Erin calls, in her sublime

Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic

(The antiquarians who can settle time,

Which settles all things, Roman, Greek, or Runie, Swear that Pat's language sprung from the same clime With Hannibal, and wears the Tyrian tunic

Of Dido's alphabet; and this is rational
As any other notion, and not national);-4
XXIV.

But Juan was quite « a broth of a boy,»
A thing of impulse and a child of song:
Now swimming in the sentiment of joy,
Or the sensation (if that phrase seem wrong),
And afterwards, if he must needs destroy,

In such good company as always throng
To battles, sieges, and that kind of pleasure,
No less delighted to employ his leisure;

XXVI.

I almost lately have begun to doubt

Whether hell's pavement--if it be so paved— Must not have latterly been quite worn out,

Not by the numbers good intent hath saved, But by the mass who go below without

Those ancient good intentions, which once shaved And smooth'd the brimstone of that street of hell Which bears the greatest likeness to Pall Mall.

XXVII.

Juan, by some strange chance, which oft divides

Warrior from warrior in their grim career, Like chastest wives from constant husbands' sides, Just at the close of the first bridal year, By one of those odd turns of fortune's tides, Was on a sudden rather puzzled here, When, after a good deal of heavy firing, He found himself alone, and friends retiring.

XXVIII.

I don't know how the thing occurr'd—it might
Be that the greater part were kill'd or wounded,
And that the rest had faced unto the right

About; a circumstance which has confounded Cæsar himself, who, in the very sight

Of his whole army, which so much abounded In courage, was obliged to snatch a shield And rally back his Romans to the field.

XXIX.

Juan, who had no shield to snatch, and was
No Cæsar, but a fine young lad, who fought
He knew not why, arriving at this pass,

Stopp'd for a minute, as perhaps he ought
For a much longer time; then, like an ass-

(Start not, kind reader; since great Homer thought This simile enough for Ajax, Juan

Perhaps may find it better than a new one)-
XXX.

Then, like an ass, he went upon his way,
And, what was stranger, never look'd behind;
But seeing, flashing forward, like the day
Over the hills, a fire enough to blind

Those who dislike to look upon a fray,

He stumbled on, to try if he could find

A path to add his own slight arm and forces
To corps, the greater part of which were corses.
XXXI.

Perceiving then no more the commandant

Of his own corps, nor even the corps, which had
Quite disappear'd-the gods know how! (I can't
Account for every thing which may look bad
In history; but we at least may grant

It was not marvellous that a mere lad,
In search of glory, should look on before,
Nor care a pinch of snuff about his corps :)-
XXXII.

Perceiving nor commander nor commanded,
And left at large, like a young heir, to make
His way to-where he knew not-single-handed;
As travellers follow over bog and brake

An ignis fatuus,» or as sailors stranded

"

Unto the nearest hut themselves betake,

So Juan, following honour and his nose,

Rush'd where the thickest fire announced most foes.

XXXIII.

He knew not where he was, nor greatly cared,
For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins
Fill'd as with lightning-for his spirit shared

The hour, as is the case with lively brains; And, where the hottest fire was seen and heard,

And the loud cannon peal'd his hoarsest strains, He rush'd, while earth and air were sadly shaken By thy humane discovery, friar Bacon! 6

XXXIV.

And, as he rush'd along, it came to pass he
Fell in with what was late the second column,
Under the orders of the general Lasey,

But now reduced, as is a bulky volume,
Into an elegant extract (much less massy)

Of heroism, and took his place with solemn Air, 'midst the rest, who kept their valiant faces, And levell'd weapons, still against the glacis.

XXXV.

Just at this crisis up came Johnson too,

«

Who had << retreated,» as the phrase is when Men run away much rather than go through Destruction's jaws into the devil's den;

But Johnson was a clever fellow, who

Knew when and how to cut and come again,>>
And never ran away, except when running
Was nothing but a valorous kind of cunning.
XXXVI.

And So, when all his corps were dead or dying,
Except Don Juan-a mere novice, whose
More virgin valour never dream'd of flying,
From ignorance of danger, which indues
Its votaries, like innocence relying

On its own strength, with careless nerves and thews,— Johnson retired a little, just to rally

Those who catch cold in «shadows of death's valley.»

XXXVII.

And there, a little shelter'd from the shot,

Which rain'd from bastion, battery, parapet, Rampart, wall, casement, house-for there was not In this extensive city, sore beset

By christian soldiery, a single spot

Which did not combat like the devil as yet,
He found a number of chasseurs, all scatter'd
By the resistance of the chase they batter'd.
XXXVIII.

And these he call'd on; and, what 's strange, they came
Unto his call, unlike « the spirits from
The vasty deep,» to whom you may exclaim,

Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave their home.
Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame

At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb,
And that odd impulse, which in wars or creeds,
Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads.

ΧΧΧΙΧ.

By Jove! he was a noble fellow, Johnson,

And though his name than Ajax or Achilles Sounds less harmonious, underneath the sun soon We shall not see his likeness: he could kill his Man quite as quietly as blows the monsoon

Her steady breath (which some months the same still is); Seldom he varied feature, hue, or muscle, And could be very busy without bustle.

XL.

And therefore, when he ran away, he did so
Upon reflection, knowing that behind

He would find others who would fain be rid so
Of idle apprehensions, which, like wind,
Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so
Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind,
But when they light upon immediate death,
Retire a little, merely to take breath.

XLI.

But Johnson only ran off to return

With many other warriors, as we said, Unto that rather some what misty bourn,

Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread. To Jack, howe'er, this gave but slight concern: His soul (like galvanism upon the dead)

Acted upon the living as on wire,

And led them back into the heaviest fire.

XLII.

Egad! they found the second time what they
The first time thought quite terrible enough
To fly from, malgré all which people say

Of glory, and all that immortal stuff
Which fills a regiment (besides their pay,

That daily shilling which makes warriors tough)— They found on their return the self same welcome, Which made some think, and others know, a hell come.

XLIII.

They fell as thick as harvests beneath hail,

Grass before scythes, or corn below the sickle,
Proving that trite old truth, that life 's as frail
As any other boon for which men stickle.
The Turkish batteries thrash'd them like a flail,
Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle
Putting the very bravest, who were knock'd
Upon the head before their guns were cock'd.
XLIV.

The Turks, behind the traverses and flanks
Of the next bastion, fired away like devils,
And swept, as gales sweep foam away,
whole ranks:
However, Heaven knows how, the Fate who levels
Towns, nations, worlds, in her revolving pranks,

So order'd it, amidst these sulphury revels,

That Johnson, and some few who had not scamper'd, Reach'd the interior talus of the rampart.

XLV.

First one or two, then five, six, and a dozen,
Came mounting quickly up, for it was now

All neck or nothing, as, like pitch or rosin,

Flame was shower'd forth above as well 's below,
So that you scarce could say who best had chosen,—
The gentlemen that were the first to show
Their martial faces on the parapet,

Or those who thought it brave to wait as yet.
XLVI.

But those who scaled found out that their advance
Was favour'd by an accident or blunder:
The Greek or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance
Had palisado'd in a way you 'd wonder
To see in forts of Netherlands or France-
(Though these to our Gibraltar must knock under)—
Right in the middle of the parapet,

Just named, these palisades were primly set:

XLVII.

So that on either side some nine or ten

Paces were left, whereon you could contrive
To march; a great convenience to our men,
At least to all those who were left alive,
Who thus could form a line and fight again;
And that which further aided them to strive
Was, that they could kick down the palisades,
Which scarcely rose much higher than grass blades,7
XLVIII.

Among the first,-I will not say the first,
For such precedence upon such occasions
Will oftentimes make deadly quarrels burst
Out between friends as well as allied nations;
The Briton must be bold who really durst

Put to such trial John Bull's partial patience,
As say that Wellington at Waterloo

Was beaten, though the Prussians say so too;—

XLIX.

And that if Blucher, Bulow, Gneisenau,

And God knows who besides in « au» and « ou,» Had not come up in time to cast an awe

Into the hearts of those who fought till now As tigers combat with an empty craw,

The Duke of Wellington had ceased to show His orders, also to receive his pensions, Which are the heaviest that our history mentions.

L.

But never mind;—« God save the king!» and kings! For if he don't, I doubt if men will longer.

I think I hear a little bird, who sings,

The people by and by will be the stronger: The veriest jade will wince whose harness wrings So much into the raw as quite to wrong her Beyond the rules of posting,-and the mob At last fall sick of imitating Job.

LI.

At first it grumbles, then it swears, and then,
Like David, flings smooth pebbles 'gainst a giant;
At last it takes to weapons, such as men

Snatch when despair makes human hearts less pliant
Then « comes the tug of war;»'t will come again,
I rather doubt; and I would fain say « fie on 't.»
If I had not perceived that revolution
Alone can save the earth from hell's pollution.
LII.

But to continue:-I say not the first,

But of the first, our little friend Don Juan Walk'd o'er the walls of Ismail, as if nursed

Amidst such scenes- -though this was quite a new one To him, and I should hope to most. The thirst

Of glory, which so pierces through and through one, Pervaded him-although a generous creature, As warm in heart as feminine in feature.