DON JUAN. CANTO VII. I. OH Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight. II. And such as they are, such my present tale is, Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime. When we know what all are, we must bewail us, But, ne'ertheless, I hope it is no crime To laugh at all things-for I wish to know III. They accuse me-Me-the present writer of At human power and virtue, and all that; CANTO VII.-A And this they say in language rather rough. Good God! I wonder what they would be at! By Swift, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault, By Fenelon, by Luther, and by Plato; By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau, Who knew this life was not worth a potato. "Tis not their fault, nor mine, if this be so-- For my part, I pretend not to be Cato, Socrates said, our only knowledge was "To know that nothing could be known;" Science enough, which levels to an ass Ecclesiastes said, that all is vanity- Most modern preachers say the same, or show it In short, all know, or very soon may know it; By saint, by sage, by preacher, and by poet, VII. Dogs, or Men! (for I flatter you in saying That ye are dogs-your betters far) ye may As little as the Moon stops for the baying Of wolves, will the bright Muse withdraw one ray VIII. "Fierce loves and faithless wars"-I am not sure I sing them both, and am about to batter Who loved blood as an alderman loves marrow. IX. The Fortress is called Ismail, and is placed But still a fortress of the foremost rank, X. Within the extent of this fortification A Borough is comprised along the height A Greek had raised around this elevation A quantity of palisades upright, So placed as to impede the fire of those XI. This circumstance may serve to give a notion The rampart higher than you'd wish to hang: But then there was a great want of precaution, (Prithee, excuse this engineering slang) Nor work advanced, nor covered way was there, To hint as least" Here is no thoroughfare." XII. But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge, XIII. But from the river the town's open quite, But as the Danube could not well be waded, XIV. The Russians now were ready to attack; But oh, ye Goddesses of war and glory! Achilles' self was not more grim and gory XV. Still I'll record a few, if but to increase Our euphony-there was Strongenoff, and Strokonoff, Meknop, Serge Lwdw, Arseniew of modern Greece, And Tschitsshakoff, and Roguenoff, and Chokenoff, And others of twelve consonants a-piece; And more might be found out, if I could poke enough Into gazettes; but Fame (capricious strumpet) It seems, bas got an ear as well as trumpet, XVI. And cannot tune those discords of narration, Of Londonderry, drawling against time, XVII. Scherematoff and Chrematoff, Koklophti, CANTO VII.-B |