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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
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!
Beyond the Russian batteries a few toises,
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.
These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, In the same moment, loud as even the roar
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.
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 ?
Insisting on removal of the prince,
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,-
His sympathy for rank, by the same token,
To teach him greater, had his own leg broken.
And thirty thousand muskets fluug their pills
Mortality! thou hast tlıy monthly bills;
Like the death-watch, within our cars the ills
Until their very number makes men hard
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
Think what it is to be in your old age
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
To take a battery on the right; the others,
Had set to work as briskly as their brothers : Being grenadiers, they mounted, one by one,
Cheerful as children climb the breasts of mothers,
The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded,
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 track our hero on his path of fame:
For fifty thousand heroes, name by name,
A couplet, or an elegy to claim,
To the gazette -- which doubtless fairly deali
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
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
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,
The nightly muster and the silent march
So much as under a triumphal arch,
A glance on the dull clouds (as thick as starch,
There have been and are heroes who befun
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
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
A thing of impulse and a child of song:
Or the sensation (if that phrase seem wrong), And afterwards, if he must needs destroy,
In such good company as always throng
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
Whether hell's pavement--if it be so paved-
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.
Warrior from warrior in their grim career,
Just at the close of the first bridal year,
Was on a sudden rather puzzled here,
Be that the greater part were kill'd or wounded,
About; a circumstance which has confounded Cæsar himself, who, in the very sight
of his whole army, which so much abounded
No Cæsar, but a fine young lad, who fought
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)
And, what was stranger, never look'd behind;
Over the hills, a fire enough to blind
He stumbled on, to try if he could find
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
It was not marvellous that a mere lad,
And left at large, like a young heir, to make
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.
For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins
The hour, as is the case with lively brains ;
And the loud cannon peal'd his hoarsest strains,
Fell in with what was late the second columo,
But now reduced, as is a bulky volume, Into an elegant extract (much less massy)
Of heroism, and took his place with solemn
Who had « retreated,» as the phrase is when
Destruction's jaws into the devil's den;
Knew when and how « to cut and come again,»
Except Don Juan-a mere novice, whose
From ignorance of danger, which indues Its votaries, like innocence relying
On its own strength, with careless nerves and thews,-
Which rain'd from bastion, battery, parapet,
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.
Unto his call, unlike « the spirits from
Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave their home. Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame
At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb,
And though his name than Ajax or Achilles
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
Paces were left, whereon you could contrive
At least to all those who were left alive,
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
Al last fall sick of imitating Job.
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.»
Alone can save the earth from hell's pollution.
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,
As warm in heart as feminine in feature.
Even from a child, felt like a child; howe er
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;
Of solitude; health slırank not from him--for
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
Cite is, that Boon lived hunting up to ninety;
For which men vainly decimate the throng,
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.
'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 ;-
He show'd himself as kind as mortal can.
A sylvan tribe of children of the chase,
For sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace
On her unwrinkled brow, nor could you view
A frown on nature's or on human face; -
And fresh as is a torrent or a tree.
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,
Though very true, were not yet used for trides.
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,