DON JUAN. Our euphony-there was Strongenoff, and Strokonoff, And more might be found out, if I could poke enough XVI. And cannot tune those discords of narration, Soft words too, fitted for the peroration Of Londonderry, drawling against time, XXIII. The Russians, having built two batteries on The city's shape suggested this, 't is true; The second object was to profit by The moment of the general consternation, To frighten them into capitulation; Ending in "ischskin," "ousckin," "iffskchy," "ouski," A phantasy which sometimes seizes warriors, Of whom we can insert but Rousamouski, Unless they are game as bull-dogs and fox-terriers ; A habit rather blameable, which is That of despising those we combat with, The cause of killing Tchitchitzkoff and Smith, XXVI. The Russian batteries were incomplete, Because they were constructed in a hurry. Thus, the same cause which makes a verse want feet, As they who print them think is necessary, XXVII. Whether it was their engineers' stupidity, Their haste, or waste, I neither know nor care This being the case, may show us what fame is: For out of three "preux chevaliers," how Many of common readers give a guess That such existed? (and they may live now But here are men who fought in gallant actions Their names are seldom found, nor often sought. "Let there be light!" said God, " and there was "Let there be blood!" says man, and there's a st The fiat of this spoil'd child of the night (For day ne'er saw his merits) could decree More evil in an hour, than thirty bright Summers could renovate, though they should be Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's fruitFor war cuts up not only branch but root. Our friends the Turks, who with loud "Allas" now In thinking that their enemy is beat, XLIII. For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop drew In sight two horsemen, who were deem'd Cossac For some time, till they came in nearer view. They had but little baggage at their backs, For there were but three shirts between the two; But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks, Till, in approaching, were at length descried In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his guide. XLIV. "Great joy to London now!" says some great fool, When London had a grand illumination, Which, to that battle-conjuror, John Bull, Is of all dreams the first hallucination; So that the streets of colour'd lamps are full, That sage (said John) surrenders at discretion His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his nonsense To gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense. XLV. all-famous oath 'Tis strange that he should further "damn his eyes," And famine, with her gaunt and bony growth, Which stares him in the face, he won't examine, Or swears that Ceres hath begotten Famine. The whole camp rung with joy; you would have thought Whereon, immediately at his request, L. But so it was; and every preparation Was also in three columns, with a thirst LI. New batteries were erected; and was held And, every difficulty being expell'd, Glory began to dawn with due sublimity, LII. It is an actual fact, that he, commander- To swallow flame, and never take it ill; Also he dress'd up, for the nonce, fascines Like men, with turbans, scimitars, and dirks, At which your wise men sneer'd, in phrases witty:- They brought him and his comrades to headquarters; "You served at Widin ?" "Yes." "You led the attack?" And I became a prisoner to the foe."- LXXVIII. Nothing. The work of glory still went on, If Homer had found mortars ready made; But now, instead of slaying Priam's son, We only can but talk of escalade, Bombs, drums, guns, bastions, batteries, bayonets, bullets, flard words which stick in the soft Muses' gullets. LXXIX. Oh, thou eternal Homer! who couldst charm Arms to which men will never more resort, Much less than is the hope of every court, Which now is leagued young Freedom to annoy ;But they will not find Liberty & 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 about as vain As for a brook to cope with ocean's flood; But still we moderns equal you in bloodLXXXI. 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 despatches. LXXXII. Oh, ye great bulletins of Buonaparte! 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! A portion of your fading twilight hues, LXXXIII. When I call fading" martial immortality, Some sucking hero is compell'd to rear, Medals, ranks, ribands, 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, LXXXV. At least he fees 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, er-but it is time to ease This canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue. The next shall ring a peal to shake all people, Like a bob-major from a village-steeple. |