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V. Hark! through the silence of the cold dull night, And such they are-and such they will be found. The hum of armies gathering rank on rank!

Not so Leonidas and Washington, Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight

Whose every battle-field is holy ground, Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank

Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. Of the arm'd river, while with straggling light How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!

The stars peep through the vapours dim and dank, While the mere victor's may appal or stun
Which curl in curious wreaths-How soon the smoke The servile and the vain, such dames will be
Of hell shall pall them in a deeper cloak !

A watch-word till the future shall be free.

VI. llere pause we for the present—as even then

The night was dark, and the thick mist allow'd That awful pause, dividing life from death,

Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame, Struck for an instant on the hearts of men,

Which arch'd the horizon like a fiery cloud, Thousands of whom were drawing their last breath! And in the Danube's waters shone the same, A moment-and all will be life again!

A mirror'd hell! The volleying roar, and loud The march! the charge! the shouts of either faith!

Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame Hurra! and Allah! and-one moment more

The ear far more than thunder; for Heaven's flashes The death-cry drowning in the battle's roar.

Spare, or smite rarely-Man's make millions ashes!

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.

Ou blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds! And one enormous shout of « Allah!» rose

These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, In the same moment, loud as even the roar
Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds : Of war's most mortal engines, to their foes
And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream

Hurling defance: city, stream, and shore Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds

Resounded « Allah!» and the clouds, which close At present such things, since they are her theme, With thickening canopy the conflict o'er, So be they her inspirers ! Call them Mars,

Vibrate to the Eternal Name. Hark! through Bellona, what you will--they mean but wars. All sounds it pierceth, « Allah! Allah! Hu!»' II.

IX. All was prepared--the fire, the sword, the men

The columns were in movement, one and all : To wield them in their terrible array.

But, of the portion which attack'd by water, The army, like a lion from his den,

Thicker than leaves the lives began to fall, March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay

Though led by Arseniew, that great son of slaughter, A human Hydra, issuing from its fen

As brave as ever faced both bomb and ball. To breathe destruction on its winding way,

« Carnage (so Wordsworth tells you) is God's Whose heads were heroes, which, cut off in vain,

daughter:» a Immediately in others grew again.

If he speak truth, she is Christ's sister, and

Just now behaved as in the Holy Land.

History can only take things in the gross;

The Prince de Ligne was wounded in the knee; But could we know them in detail, perchance

Count Chapeau-Bras too had a ball between lo balancing the profit and the loss,

His cap and head, which proves the head to be War's merit it by no means might enhance,

Aristocratic as was ever seen, To waste so much gold for a little dross,

Because it then received no injury As hash been done, mere conquest to advance,

More than the cap; in fact the ball could mear The drying up a single tear has more

No harm unto a right legitimate head: Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

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

And why? because it brings self-approbation; Also the General Markow, Brigadier,
Whereas the other, after all its glare,

Insisting on removal of the prince,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation Amidst some groaning thousands dying near,-

Which (it may be) has not much left to spare All common fellows, who might writhe and wince A higher title, or a loftier station,

And shriek for water into a deaf ear,-
Though they may make corruption gape or stare, The General Markow, who could thus evince
Yet, in the end, except in freedom's battles,

His sympathy for rank, by the same token,
Are nothing but a child of murder's rattles.

To teach him greater, had his own leg broken.

Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic,

And thirty thousand muskets fluug their pills
Like bail, to make a bloody diuretic.

Mortality! thou hast tlıy monthly bills;
Thy plagues, thy famines, thy physicians, yet tick,

Like the death-watch, within our cars the ills
Past, present, and to come;- but all may yield
To the true portrait of one battle-field.

There the still varying pangs, which multiply

Until their very number makes men hard
By the infinities of agony,

Which meet the gaze, whale'er it may regardThe groan, the roll in dust, the all-white eye

Turnd back within ils socket, -these reward
Your rank and file by thousands, while the rest
May win, perhaps, a riband at the breast!

Yet I love glory; glory 's a great thing;

Think what it is to be in your old age
Maintajo'd at the expense


your good king: A moderate pension shakes full many a sage, And heroes are but made for bards to sing,

Which is still better ; thus in verse to wage
Your wars eternally, besides enjoying
Half-pay for life, make mankind worth destroying.

The troops already disembark'd push'd on

To take a battery on the right; the others,
Who landed lower down, their landing done,

Had set to work as briskly as their brothers : Being grenadiers, they mounted, one by one,

Cheerful as children climb the breasts of mothers,
O'er the entrenchment and the palisade,
Quite orderly, as if upon parade.

And this was admirable; for so hot

The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded,
Besides its lava, with all sorts of shot

And shells or hells, it could not more have goaded. Of officers a third fell on the spot,

A thing which victory by no means boded
To gentlemen engaged in the assault:
Hlounds, when the huntsmın tumbles, are at fault.

But here I leave the general concern,

To track our hero on his path of fame:
He must his laurels separately earn;

For fifty thousand heroes, name by name,
Though all deserving equally to turn

A couplet, or an elegy to claim,
Would form a lengthy lexicon of glory,
And, what is worse still, a much longer story:

And therefore we must give the greater number

To the gazette -- which doubtless fairly deali
By the deceased, who lie in famous slumber

In ditches, fields, or wheresoe'er they fell Their clay for the last time their souls encumber ;

Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt In the dispatch; I knew a man whose loss Was printed Grove, although bis name was Grose, 3

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.

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 nigber

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.

Though I 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 thros

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.

Indeed he could not. But what if he had

There have been and are heroes who befun
With something not much better, or as bad:

Frederick the Great from Molwitz deiga'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.

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 Rapic, Swcar ıhat 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

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 Jess delighted to employ bis leisure;

But always without malice. If he warra

Or loved, it was with what we call the best Intentions,» which form all mankind's trump-card.

To be produced when brought up to the test. The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer---ward

Off each attack when people are in quest Of their designs, by saying they meant well; 'Tis pity « that such meanings should pave hell. s

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 nambers 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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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 :)

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.

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

And, as he rush'd along, it came to pass he

Fell in with what was late the second columo,
Under the orders of the general Lascy,

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 levelld weapons, still against the glacis.

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.

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.»

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.

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.

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.


XLVII. And therefore, when he ran away, he did so

So that on either side some nine or ten
Upon reflection, knowing that behind

Paces were left, whereon you could contrive
He would find others who would fain be rid so To march; a great convenience to our mea,
Of idle appreliensions, which, like wind,

At least to all those who were left alive,
Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so Who thus could form a line and fight again;
Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind,

And that which further aided them to strive But when they light upon immediate death,

Was, that they could kick down the palisades, Retire a little, merely to take breath.

Which scarcely rose much higher than grass blades? XLI.

XLVIII. But Johnson only ran off to return

Among the first, I will not say the first, With many other warriors, as we said,

For such precedence upon such occasions Unto that rather some what misty bourn,

Will oftentimes make deadly quarrels burst Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread.

Out between friends as well as allied nations, To Jack, howe'er, this gave but slight concera:

The Briton must be bold who really durst His soul (like galvanism upon the dead)

Put to such trial John Bull's partial patience, Acted upon the living as on wire,

As say that Wellington at Waterloo And led them back into the heaviest fire.

Was beaten,-though the Prussians say so 100; – XLII.

XLIX. Egad! they found the second time what they

And that if Blucher, Bulow, Goeisenau, The first time thought quite terrible enough

And God koows who besides in « aur and a ou,» To fly from, malgré all which people say

Had not come up in time to cast an awe Of glory, and all that immortal stuff

Into the hearts of those who fought till now Which fills a regiment (besides their pay,

As ligers combat with an empty craw, That daily shilling which makes warriors tough) - The Duke of Wellington had ceased to show They found on their return the self same welcome, llis orders, also to receive his pensions, Which made some think, and others know, a hell come. Which are the heaviest that our history mentions, XLIII.

L. They fell as thick as harvests bencath bail,

But never mind ;-«God save the king in and kings' Grass before scythies, or corn below the sickle,

For if he don't, I doubt if men will longer.Proving that trile old truth, that life's as frail

I think I lear a little bird, who sings, As any other boon for which men stickle.

The people by and by will be the stronger: The Turkish batteries thrash'd them like a flail,

The veriest jade will wince whose harness wriugs Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle

So much into the raw as quite to wrong her Putting the very bravest, who were knock'd

Beyond the rules of posting,—and the mob
Upon the head before their guns were cock d.

Al last fall sick of imitating Job.

The Turks, behind the traverses and flanks

At first it grumbles, then it swears, and then, Of the next bastion, fired away like devils,

Like David, flinys smooth pebbles 'gainst a giant; And swept, as cales sweep foam away, whole ranks: At last it takes to weapons, such as men

llowever, Heaven knows how, the Fate who levels Snatch when despair makes human hearts less pluaat Towns, nations, worlds, in her revolving pranks, Then « comes the tug of war;»- i will come again, So order'd it, amidst these sulphury revels,

I rather doubt; and I would fain say « fie on 't.»
That Johnson, and some few who had not scamper'd, If I had not perceived that revolution
Reachid the interior talus of the rampart.

Alone can save the earth from hell's pollution.

First one or two, then five, six, and a dozen,

But to continue:-) say not the first, Came mounting quickly up, for it was now

But of the first, our little friend Don Juan All neck or nothing, as, like pitch or rosin,

Walk'd o'er the walls of Ismail, as if nursed Flame was shower'd forth above as well's below, Amidse such scenes—though this was quite a net ook So that you scarce could


wlio best had chosen, To him, and I should hope to most. The thirst The gentlemen that were the first to show

Of glory, which so pierces through and through ebe, Their martial faces on the parapet,

Pervaded him-although a generous creature,
Or those who thought it brave to wait as yet.

As warm in heart as feminine in feature.

But those who scaled found out that their advance And bere lie was-who, upon woman's breast,
Was favour'd by an accident or blunder:

Even from a child, felt like a child; howe er
The Greck or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance

The man in all the rest might be confess d; lai palisado'd in a way you 'd wonder

To him it was Elysium to be there; To see in forts of Netherlands or France

And he could even withstand that awkward test (Though these to our Gibraltar inust knock under) - Which Rousseau points out to the dubious fair, Right in the middle of the parapel,

« Observe your lover when he leaves your arms; Just pamed, these palisades were primly set:

But Juan never left them while they à charms,


LXI. Unless compella by fate, or wave, or wind,

Of all men, saving Sylla the man-slayer, Or near relations, who are much the same.

Who passes for in life and death most lucky, But here he was !-- where each tie that can bind Of the great names which in our faces stare, Humanity must yield to steel and flame:

The General Boon, back-woodsman of Kentucky, And he, whose very body was all mind, -

Was happiest amongst mortals any where;
Flung here by fate or circumstance, which tame For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he
The loftiest,-hurried by the time and place - Enjoy'd the lonely, vigorous, harmless days,
Dash'd on like a spurr'd blood-horse in a race. Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze.

So was his blood stirrid while he found resistance, Crime came not near him--she is not the child
As is the hunter's at the five-bar gate,

Of solitude; health slırank not from him--for
Or double post and rail, where the existence

Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild, Of Britain's youth depends upon their weight, Where if men seek her not, and death be more The lightest being the safest: at a distance

Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled He hated cruelty, as all men liate

By habit to what their own hearts abhorBlood, until heated-and even there his own

In cities caged. The present case in point I
At times would curdle o'er some heavy groan.

Cite is, that Boon lived hunting up to ninety;

The General Lascy, who had been hard pressid, And what's still stranger, left behind a name-
Seeing arrive an aid so opportune

For which men vainly decimate the throng,
As were some hundred youngsters all abreast, Not only famous, but of that good fame

Who came as if just dropp'd down from the moon, Without which glory's but a tavern songTo Juan, who was nearest liim, address d

Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, His thanks, and hopes to take the city soon,

Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wrong; Not reckoning him to be a « base Bezonian»

An active hermit, even in age the child (As Pistol calls it), but a young Livonian.

Of nature, or the Man of Ross run wild.

Juan, to whom he spoke in German, knew

'T is true he shrank from men, even of his nation, As much of German as of Sanscrit, and

When they built up unto his darling trees, lo answer made an inclination to

He moved some hundred miles off, for a station The general who held him in command;

Where there were fewer houses and more easeFor, seeing one with riband, black and blue,

The inconvenience of civilization Stars, medals, and a bloody sword in hand,

Is, that you neither can be pleased nor please ;-
Addressing him in tones which seem'd to thank, But, where he met the individual man,
He recognized an officer of rank.

He show'd himself as kind as mortal can.

Short speeches pass between two men who speak He was not all alone: around him grew
No common language; and besides, in time

A sylvan tribe of children of the chase,
Of war and taking towns, when many a shriek Whose young, unwaken'd world was ever new,
Rings o'er the dialogue, and many a crime

For sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace
Is perpetrated ere a word can break

On her unwrinkled brow, nor could you view
L'pon the ear, and sounds of horror chime

A frown on nature's or on human face; -
Jo, like church-bells, with sigh, howl, groan, yell, prayer, The free-born forest found and kept them free,
There cannot be much conversation there.

And fresh as is a torrent or a tree.

And therefore all we have related in

And tall and strong and swift of foot were they, Two long octaves, pass d in a little minute;

Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions, But in the same small minute, every sin

Because their thoughts had never been the prey Contrived to get itself comprised within it.

Of care or gain: the green woods were their portions; The very cannon, deafen'd by the din,

No sinking spirits told them they grew grey; Grew dumb, for you might almost hear a linnet, No fashion made them apes of her distortions ; As soon as thunder, 'midst the general noise

Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles,
Of human nature's agonizing voice!

Though very true, were not yet used for trides.

The town was enter'd. Oh eternity!

Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers, « God made the country, and man made the town,» And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil; So Cowper says--and I begin to be

Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers; Of his opinion, when I see cast down

Corruption could not make their hearts her soil: Rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh

The lust which stings, the splendour which encumbers All walls men know, and many never known; With the free foresters divide no spoil; And, pondering on the present and the past,

Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes To deem the woods shall be our home at last. Of this unsighing people of the woods,

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