LXXXV. he sees, At least he feels it, and some say This Canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue. LXXXVI. Hark! through the silence of the cold, dull night, Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank LXXXVII. Here pause we for the present-as even then Thousands of whom were drawing their last breath! A moment—and all will be life again! The march ! the charge! the shouts of either faith! Hurra! and Allah! and-one moment moreThe death-cry drowning in the battle's roar. DON JUAN. CANTO THE EIGHTH. (1) (1) [This Canto is almost entirely filled with the taking of Ismail by storm. It would be absurd to attempt, in prose, even a feeble outline of the varied horrors which marked that celebrated scene of ruthless and indiscriminate carnage; the noble writer has depicted them with all that vivid and appalling fidelity, which, on such a theme, might be expected from his powerful muse; and, if any thing can add to the shuddering sensation we experience in reading these terrific details, it is the consideration, that poetry, in this instance, instead of dealing in fiction, must necessarily relate a tale that falls short of the truth.- CAMPBELL.] DON JUAN. CANTO THE EIGHTH. I. Oн blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds! These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds: And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds At present such things, since they are her theme, So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars, Bellona, what you will—they mean but wars. II. All was prepared—the fire, the sword, the men March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay,A human Hydra, issuing from its fen To breathe destruction on its winding way, Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain Immediately in others grew again. |