XVIII.

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 Their clay for the last time their souls encumber ;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. (1)

XIX.

Juan and Johnson join'd a certain corps,

And fought away with might and main, not knowing The way which they had never trod before,

And still less guessing where they might be going; But on they march'd, dead bodies trampling o'er, Firing, and thrusting, slashing, sweating, glowing, But fighting thoughtlessly enough to win, To their two selves, one whole bright bulletin.

XX.

Thus on they wallow'd in the bloody mire

Of dead and dying thousands, -sometimes gaining A yard or two of ground, which brought them nigher To some odd angle for which all were straining; At other times, repulsed by the close fire,

Which really pour'd as if all hell were raining Instead of heaven, they stumbled backwards o'er A wounded comrade, sprawling in his gore.

(1) A fact: see the Waterloo Gazettes. I recollect remarking at the time to a friend:-" There is fame! a man is killed, his name is Grose, and they print it Grove." I was at college with the deceased, who was a very amiable and clever man, and his society in great request for his wit, gaiety, and "Chansons à boire."

XXI.

Though 't was 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 throw
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.

XXII.

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.

XXIII.

He was what Erin calls, in her sublime Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic; (The antiquarians (1) who can settle time,

Which settles all things, Roman, Greek, or Runic, Swear that Pat's language sprung from the same clime With Hannibal, and wears the Tyrian tunic Of Dido's alphabet; and this is rational As any other notion, and not national) ;

(1) See General Valancey and Sir Lawrence Parsons.

XXIV.

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 afterward, 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;

XXV.

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.
The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer-ward
Off each attack, when people are in quest
Of their designs, by saying they meant well;
'Tis pity" that such meaning should

XXVI.

I almost lately have begun to doubt

pave

hell." (1)

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.

(1) The Portuguese proverb says that "hell is paved with good intentions."

XXVII.

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.

XXVIII.

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. (1)

XXIX.

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

(1) ["The Nervii marched to the number of sixty thousand, and fell upon Cæsar, as he was fortifying his camp, and had not the least notion of so sudden an attack. They first routed his cavalry, and then surrounded the twelfth and the seventh legions, and killed all the officers. Had not Cæsar snatched a buckler from one of his own men, forced his way through the combatants before him, and rushed upon the barbarians; or had not the tenth legion, seeing his danger, ran from the heights where they were posted, and mowed down the enemy's ranks, not one Roman would have survived the battle."- PLUTARCH. ]

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);—

XXX.

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.

XXXI.

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 :)—

XXXII.

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