The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 73

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 enc.u.mber;-- 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.[422]

XIX.

Juan and Johnson joined 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 marched, 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 wallowed in the b.l.o.o.d.y 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 poured as if all h.e.l.l 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 stiffened Heaven) as if he wished for day;-- Yet for all this he did not run away.

XXII.

Indeed he could not. 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[423] deigned to run, For the first and last time; for, like a pad, Or hawk, or bride, most mortals after one Warm bout are broken in to 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[424]--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;)--

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 warred 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 meaning should pave h.e.l.l."[425]

XXVI.

I almost lately have begun to doubt Whether h.e.l.l'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 ma.s.s who go below without Those ancient good intentions, which once shaved And smoothed the brimstone of that street of h.e.l.l Which bears the greatest likeness to Pall Mall.[ib]

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 occurred--it might Be that the greater part were killed or wounded, And that the rest had faced unto the right About; a circ.u.mstance which has confounded Caesar himself, who, in the very sight Of his whole army, which so much abounded In courage, was obliged to s.n.a.t.c.h a shield, And rally back his Romans to the field.[426]

XXIX.

Juan, who had no shield to s.n.a.t.c.h, and was No Caesar, but a fine young lad, who fought He knew not why, arriving at this pa.s.s, Stopped for a minute, as perhaps he ought For a much longer time; then, like an a.s.s (Start not, kind reader, since great Homer[427] thought This simile enough for Ajax, Juan Perhaps may find it better than a new one);

x.x.x.

Then, like an a.s.s, he went upon his way, And, what was stranger, never looked 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.

x.x.xI.

Perceiving then no more the commandant Of his own corps, nor even the corps, which had Quite disappeared--the G.o.ds know how! (I can't Account for everything 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:)--[ic]

x.x.xII.

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, Rushed where the thickest fire announced most foes.[428]

x.x.xIII.

He knew not where he was, nor greatly cared, For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins Filled 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 pealed his hoa.r.s.est strains, He rushed, while earth and air were sadly shaken By thy humane discovery, Friar Bacon![id][429]

x.x.xIV.

And as he rushed along, it came to pa.s.s 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 ma.s.sy) Of heroism, and took his place with solemn Air 'midst the rest, who kept their valiant faces And levelled weapons still against the Glacis.[ie]

x.x.xV.

Just at this crisis up came Johnson too, Who had "retreated," as the phrase is when Men run away much rather than go through Destruction's jaws into the Devil's den; But Johnson was a clever fellow, who Knew when and how "to cut and come again,"

And never ran away, except when running Was nothing but a valorous kind of cunning.

x.x.xVI.

And so, when all his corps were dead or dying, Except Don Juan, a mere novice, whose More virgin valour never dreamt of flying, From ignorance of danger, which indues Its votaries, like Innocence relying On its own strength, with careless nerves and thews,-- Johnson retired a little, just to rally Those who catch cold in "shadows of Death's valley."

x.x.xVII.

And there, a little sheltered from the shot, Which rained from bastion, battery, parapet, Rampart, wall, cas.e.m.e.nt, house--for there was not In this extensive city, sore beset By Christian soldiery, a single spot Which did not combat like the Devil, as yet,-- He found a number of Cha.s.seurs, all scattered By the resistance of the chase they battered.

x.x.xVIII.

And these he called on; and, what 's strange, they came Unto his call, unlike "the spirits from The vasty deep," to whom you may exclaim, Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave their home:--[430]

Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb, And that odd impulse, which in wars or creeds[if]

Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads.

x.x.xIX.

By Jove! he was a n.o.ble fellow, Johnson, And though his name, than Ajax or Achilles, Sounds less harmonious, underneath the sun soon We shall not see his likeness: he could kill his Man quite as quietly as blows the Monsoon Her steady breath (which some months the same _still_ is): Seldom he varied feature, hue, or muscle, And could be very busy without bustle;

XL.

And therefore, when he ran away, he did so Upon reflection, knowing that behind He would find others who would fain be rid so Of idle apprehensions, which like wind Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind, But when they light upon immediate death, Retire a little, merely to take breath.

XLI.

But Johnson only ran off, to return With many other warriors, as we said, Unto that rather somewhat misty bourne, Which Hamlet tells us is a pa.s.s of dread.[431]