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?

XI.

Also the General Markow, brigadier,

Insisting on removal of the prince,

Amidst some groaning thousands dying near,—
All common fellows, who might writhe and wince
And shriek for water into a deaf ear,-

The General Markow, who could thus evince
His sympathy for rank, by the same token,
To teach him greater, had his own leg broken.

XII.

Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic,
And thirty thousand muskets flung their pills
Like hail, to make a bloody diuretic.

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.

XIII.

There the still varying pangs, which multiply
Until their very number makes men hard
By the infinities of agony,

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!

XIV.

Yet I love glory; glory 's a great thing;
Think what it is to be in your old 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 enjoying

Half-pay for life, make mankind worth destroying.

XV.

The troops, already disembark'd, push'd on
To take a battery on the right; the others,
Who landed lower down, their landing done,

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 lava, 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

To gentlemen engaged in the assault :

Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, are at fault.

XVII.

But here I leave the general concern,

To track our hero on his path of fame :

He must his laurels separately earn;

For fifty thousand heroes, name by name,
Though all deserving equally to turn

A couplet, or an elegy to claim,
Would form a lengthy lexicon of glory,
And, what is worse still, a much longer story:

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 dispatch; I knew a man whose loss
Was printed Grove, although his name was Grose.3

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.

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: 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 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 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) ;— 4

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 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;

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;
'T is pity" that such meanings should

XXVI.

I almost lately have begun to doubt

hell." pave

Whether hell's pavement-if it be so paved— Must not have latterly been quite worn out, Not by the numbers good intent hath saved, But by the mass who go below without

5

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.

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.

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

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
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.

XXXIII.

He knew not where he was, nor greatly cared,
For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins
Fill'd as with lightning-for his spirit shared

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!

XXXIV.

And, as he rush'd along, it came to pass he
Fell in with what was late the second column,
Under the orders of the general Lascy,
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.