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X. The Prince de Ligne was wounded in the knee;
Count Chapeau-Bras too had a ball between His cap and head, which proves the head to be
Aristocratic as was ever seen, Because it then received no injury
More than the cap ; in fact the ball could mean No harm unto a right legitimate head : “ Ashes to ashes ”—why not lead to lead ?
Insisting on removal of the prince,
All common fellows, who might writhe and wince And shriek for water into a deaf ear,
The General Markow, who could thus evince
And thirty thousand muskets flung their pills
Mortality ! thou hast thy monthly bills; Thy plagues, thy famines, thy physicians, yet tick,
Like the death-watch, within our ears the ills Past, present, and to come ;--but all may yield To the true portrait of one battle-field.
Until their very number makes men hard
Which meet the gaze, whate'er it may regard The
groan, the roll in dust, the all-white eye Turn'd back within its socket,—these reward Your rank and file by thousands, while the rest May win, perhaps, a ribbon at the breast !
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 enjoyi Half-pay for life, make mankind worth destroying.
To take a battery on the right; the others,
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.
XVI. And this was admirable ; for so hot
The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded, Besides its laya, 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
XVII. But here I leave the general concern,
To track our hero on his path of fame : He must bis laurels separately earn ;
For fifty thousand heroes, name by name,
A couplet, or an elegy to claim,
To the gazette—which doubtless fairly dealt
In ditches, fields, or wheresoe'er they felt
Thrice happy he whose name has been well spelt .
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.
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.
The nightly muster and the silent march
So much as under a triumphal arch,
A glance ou the dull clouds (as thick as starch,
There have been and are heroes who begun
Frederick 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
Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic (The antiquarians 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
A thing of impulse and a child of song:
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 ;
Or loved, it was with what we call the best
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 ; 'T is pity “ that such meanings should pave hell.” 5
Whether hell's pavement—if it be so paved—
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.
Warrior from warrior in their grim career,
Just at the close of the first bridal year,
Was on a sudden rather puzzled here,
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
Of his whole army, which so much abounded
No Cæsar, but a fine young lad, 'who fought
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)—
XXX. Then, like an ass, he went upon
way, And, what was stranger, never look'd behind; But seeing, flashing forward, like the day
Over the hills, a fire enough to blind
He stumbled on, to try if he could find
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,
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 An“ ignis fatuus,” or as sailors stranded
Unto the nearest hut themselves betake, So Juan, following honour and his nose, Rush'd where the thickest fire announced most foes.
For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins
The hour, as is the case with lively brains And where the hottest fire was seen and heard,
And the loud cannon peal'd his hoarsest strains, He rush’d, while earth and air were sadly shaken By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon !
Fell in with what was late the second column,
But now reduced, as is a bulky volume, Into an elegant extract (much less massy)
Of heroism, and took his place with solemn Air, 'midst the rest, who kept their valiant faces, And levell’d weapons, still against the glacis.