Yet I love glory; glory's a great thing;
Think what it s to be, in your old age,
Maintain'd at the expense of 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, makes mankind worth destroying.
XV.
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 :
Though 'twas 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 thre
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 begun
With something not much better, or as bad:
Frederic 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.
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, Romans, Greek, or Runic,
Swear that Pat's language sprung from the same elime
With Hannibal, and wears the Tyrian tunic
Of Dido's alphabet; and this is rational
Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, are at fault. As any other notion, and not national ;)-4
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 dealt
By the deceased, who lie in famous slumber
In ditches, fields, or wheresoe'er they felt
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;
But always without malice. If he warr'd
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.
Their clay for the last time their souls encumber;-The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer-ward
Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt
In the despatch; I knew a man whose loss
Was printed Grove, although his name was Grose.3
Off each attack when people are in quest
Of their designs, by saying they meant well;
"Tis pity" that such meaning should pave hell."
XXVI.
I almost lately have begun to doubt
Whether hell's pavement-if it be so pavedMust 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
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,
Au "ignis fatuus," or as sailors stranded,
Unto the nearest hut themselves betake,
So Juan, following honor and his nose,
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 tl.e monsoon
Her steady breath, (which some months the same
Seldom he varied feature, hue, or muscle, [still in ;)
Rush'd where the thickest fire announced most foes. And could be very busy without bustle:
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, amid these sulphury revels,
That Johnson, and some few who had not scamper'd,
Reach'd the interior talus of the rampart.
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,
And that if Blucher, Bulow, Gneisenau,
And God knows who besides in "au" and "ow,'
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 he
Beyond the rules of posting,-and the mob
At last fall sick of imitating Job.
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 [pliant;
Snatch when despair makes human hearts less
Then "comes the tug of war; "-'twill 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 [one Amid such scenes-though this was quite a new
Flame was shower'd forth above as well's below, So that you scarce could say who best had chosen,--To him, and I should hope to most. The thirst The gentlemen that were the first to show Their martial faces on the parapet,
Or those who thought it brave to wait as yet.
But those who scaled found out that their advance
Was favor'd by an accident or blunder:
The Greek or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance
Had palisadoed 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:
Bo 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."
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
Of glory, which so pierces through and through one
Pervaded him-although a generous creature,
As warm in heart as feminine in feature.
And here he was-who, upon woman's breast
Even from a child, felt like a child; howe'er
The man in all the rest might be confess'd.
To him it was Elysium to be there;
And he could even withstand that awkward test
Which Rousseau points out to the dubious fair
"Observe your lover when he leaves your arms;
But Juan never left them while they'd charms,
Unless compell'd by fate, or wave, or wind,
Or near relations, who are much the same.
But here he was!-where each tie that can bind
Humanity must yield to steel and flame:
And he, whose very body was all mind,-
Flung here by fate or circumstance, which tame
The loftiest,-hurried by the time and place,-
Dash'd on like a spurr'd blood-horse in a race
So was his blood stirr'd while he found resistance
As is the hunter's at the five-bar gate,
Or double post and rail, where the existence
Of Britain's youth depends upon their weight,
The lightest being the safest: at a distance
He hated cruelty, as all men hate
Blood, until heated-and even there his own
Was beaten,-though the Prussians say so too;- At times would curdle o'er some heavy groan.
Koutousow, he who afterwards beat back
(With some assistance from the frost and snow)
Napoleon on his bold and bloody track,
It happen'd was himself beat back just now.
He was a jolly fellow, and could crack
His jest alike in face of friend or foe,
Though life, and death, and victory were at stake
But here it seem'd his jokes had ceased to take:
LXXI.
For, having thrown himself into a ditch,
Follow'd in haste by various grenadiers,
Whose blood the puddle greatly did enrich,
He climb'd to where the parapet appears;
But there his project reach'd its utmost pitch-
('Mong other deaths the General Ribaupierre's
Was much regretted)-for the Moslem men
Threw them all down into the ditch again:
And, had it not been for some stray troops landing
They knew not where,-being carried by the stream
To some spot, where they lost their understanding,
And wander'd up and down as in a dream,
Until they reach'd, as daybreak was expanding,
That which a portal to their eyes did seem,-
The great and gay Koutousow might have lain
Where three parts of his column yet remain.
This valiant man kill'd all the Turks he met,
But could not eat them, being in his turn
Slain by some Mussulmans, who would not yet,
Without resistance, see their city burn.
The walls were won, but 'twas an even bet
Which of the armies would have cause to mourn
'Twas bow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.
Another column also suffer'd much:
And here we may remark with the historian, You should but give few cartridges to such Troops as are meant to march with greatest glory When matters must be carried by the touch
Of the bright bayonet, and they all should hurry on, They sometimes, with a hankering for existence, Keep merely firing at a foolish distance.
A junction of the General Meknop's men
(Without the General, who had fallen some time
Before, being badly seconded just then) [climb
Was made at length, with those who dared to
The death-disgorging rampart once again;
And, though the Turks' resistance was sublime,
They took the bastion, which the Seraskier
Defended at a price extremely dear.
LXXX.
And, scrambling round the rampart, these same Juan and Johnson, and some volunteers,
After the taking of the "cavalier,"
Just as Koutousow's most "forlorn" of "hopes "A
Took, like chameleons, some slight tinge of fear,
Open'd the gate call'd "Kilia" to the groups
Of baffled heroes who stood shyly near, Sliding knee-deep in lately-frozen mud, Now thaw'd into a marsh of human blood.
The Kozaks, or if so you please, Cossacks-
(I don't much pique myself upon orthography,
So that I do not grossly err in facts,
Statistics, tactics, politics, and geography)-
Having been used to serve on horses' backs,
And no great dilettanti in topography
Of fortresses, but fighting where it pleases
Their chiefs to order,-were all cut to pieces.
Their column, though the Turkish batteries thunder'd
Upon them, ne'ertheless had reach'd the rampart,
And naturally thought they could have plunder'd
The city, without being further hamper'd;
But, as it happens to brave men, they blunder'd-
The Turks at first pretended to have scamper'd,
Only to draw them 'twixt two bastion corners,
From whence they sallied on those Christian scorn-
Then being taken by the tail-a taking
Fatal to bishops as to soldiers-these
Cossacks were all cut off as day was breaking,
And found their lives were let at a short lease-
But perish'd without shivering or shaking,
Leaving as ladders their heap'd carcasses,
O'er which Lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi
March'd with the brave battalion of Polouzki :-
Among the foremost, offer'd him good quarter,
word which little suits with Seraskiers,
Or at least suited not this valiant Tartar.-
He died, deserving well his country's tears,
A savage sort of military martyr.
An English naval officer, who wish'd
To make him prisoner, was also dish'd.
For all the answer to his proposition
Was from a pistol-shot that laid him dead;
On which the rest, without more intermission,
Began to lay about with steal and lead,-
The pious metals most in requisition
On such occasions: not a single head
Was spared,-three thousand Moslems perish'd here
And sixteen bayonets pierced the Seraskier.
The city's taken-only part by part
And death is drunk with gore: there's not a street Where fights not to the last some desperate heart For those for whom it soon shall cease to beat Here War forgot his own destructive art
In more destroying nature; and the heat Of carnage, like the Nile's sun-sodden slime, Engender'd monstrous shapes of every crime.
A Russian officer, in martial tread
Over a heap of bodies, felt his heel
Seized fast, as if 'twere by the serpent's head,
Whose fangs Eve taught her human seed to feel
In vain he kick'd, and swore, and writhed, and blød
And howl'd for help as wolves do for a meal-
The teeth still kept their gratifying hold,
As do the subtle snakes described of old.
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