CXXVII. But let me put an end unto my theme: There was an end of Ismail-hapless town! Far flash'd her burning towers o'er Danube's stream, And redly ran his blushing waters down. The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream Rose still; but fainter were the thunders grown : Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall, Some hundreds breathed all! (1) CXXVIII. - the rest were silent In one thing ne'ertheless 'tis fit to praise And therefore worthy of commemoration: Perhaps the season's chill, and their long station In winter's depth, or want of rest and victual, Had made them chaste;-they ravish'd very little. (1) [" On égorgea indistinctement, on saccagea la place; et la rage du vainqueur se répandit comme un torrent furieux qui a renversé les digues qui le rétenaient: personne obtint de grace, et trente huit mille huit cent soisante Turcs périrent dans cette journée de sang."— Hist. de la Nouv. Russie, tom. iii. p. 214. "Among those who fell were a number of the bravest, most expe rienced, and renowned commanders in the Turkish armies. Six or seven Tartar princes, of the illustrious line of Gherai, likewise perished with the rest. A few hundreds of prisoners were preserved, to serve as melancholy recorders and witnesses of the destruction which they had beheld. In consequence of an accurate enquiry set on foot by an Ottoman commander of rank, it appears that the whole number of Turks, who perished in the slaughter of Ismail, amounted to thirty-eight thousand eight hundred and sixteen."-DR. LAURENCE.] CXXIX. Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less As when the French, that dissipated nation, CXXX. Some odd mistakes, too, happen'd in the dark, Which show'd a want of lanterns, or of tasteIndeed the smoke was such they scarce could mark Their friends from foes,-besides such things from haste Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark Of light to save the venerably chaste: But six old damsels, each of seventy years, Were all deflower'd by different grenadiers. CXXXI. But on the whole their continence was great; Of" single blessedness," and thought it good (Since it was not their fault, but only fate, To bear these crosses) for each waning prude To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding, Without the expense and the suspense of bedding. CXXXII. Some voices of the buxom middle-aged Were also heard to wonder in the din (Widows of forty were these birds long caged) "Wherefore the ravishing did not begin!" But while the thirst for gore and plunder raged, There was small leisure for superfluous sin; But whether they escaped or no, lies hid In darkness-I can only hope they did. CXXXIII. Suwarrow now was conqueror a match [thatch For Timour or for Zinghis in his trade. While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, like Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce allay'd, With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch; 66 And here exactly follows what he said: Glory to God and to the Empress!" (Powers Eternal! such names mingled!)" Ismail's ours." (1) CXXXIV. Methinks these are the most tremendous words, Since "Menè, Menè, Tekel," and " Upharsin," Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords. Heaven help me! I'm but little of a parson : What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's, Severe, sublime; the prophet wrote no farce on The fate of nations;-but this Russ so witty Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burning city.(2) (1) In the original Russian "Slava bogu! slava vam! a kind of couplet; for he was a poet. (2) [Mr. Tweddell, who met with Suwarrow in the Ukraine, says -"He CXXXV. He wrote this Polar melody, and set it,' Be said that we still truckle unto thrones; But ye-our children's children! think how we Show'd what things were before the world was free! That hour is not for us, but 't is for you: And as, in the great joy of your millennium, You hardly will believe such things were true As now occur, I thought that I would pen you 'em ; But may their very memory perish too!— Yet if perchance remember'd, still disdain you 'em More than you scorn the savages of yore, Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore. is a most extraordinary character. He dines every morning about nine. He sleeps almost naked; he affects a perfect indifference to heat and cold; and quits his chamber, which approaches to suffocation, in order to review his troops, in a thin linen jacket, while the thermometer of Reaumur is at ten degrees below freezing. His manners correspond with his humours. I dined with him this morning. He cried to me across the table, Tweddell!' (he generally addressed me by my surname, without addition) the French have taken Portsmouth-I have just received a courier from England. The King is in the Tower; and Sheridan, Protector." A great deal of his whimsical manner is affected: he finds that it suits his troops, and the people he has to deal with. I asked him, if, after the massacre at Ismail, he was perfectly satisfied with the conduct of the day. He said he went home and wept in his tent."- Remains, p. 135.] CXXXVII. And when you hear historians talk of thrones, The pleasant riddles of futurity— CXXXVIII. at least so far Reader! I have kept my word, And epic, if plain truth should prove no bar; CXXXIX. With which I still can harp, and carp, and fiddle. What farther hath befallen or may befall The hero of this grand poetic riddle, I by and by may tell you, if at all: But now I choose to break off in the middle, (1) ["The ostentatious and fantastic display of the bloody trophies taken at Ismail, which were some time after exhibited at Petersburgh, was unworthy the greatness, the magnanimity, and the high character of the |