from Canto VII

11

This circumstance may serve to give a notion
    Of the high talents of this new Vauban:
But the town ditch below was deep as ocean,
     The rampart higher than you’d wish to hang:
But then there was a great want of precaution,
    (Prithee, excuse this engineering slang)
Nor work advanced, nor covered way was there,
To hint at least “Here is no thoroughfare.”

12

But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge,
     And walls as thick as most skulls born as yet;
Two batteries, cap—pie, as our St. George,
     Case-mated one, and t’other “a barbette,”
Of Danube’s bank took formidable charge;
     While two and twenty cannon duly set
Rose over the town’s right side, in bristling tier,
Forty feet high, upon a cavaliere.

13

But from the river the town’s open quite,
     Because the Turks could never be persuaded
A Russian vessel e’er would heave in sight;
     And such their creed was, till they were invaded,
When it grew rather late to set things right.
     But as the Danube could not well be waded,
They looked upon the Muscovite flotilla,
And only shouted, “Alla!” and “Bis Millah!”

14

The Russians now were ready to attack;
     But oh, ye Goddesses of war and glory!
How shall I spell the name of each Cossacque
     Who were immortal, could one tell their story?
Alas! what to their memory can lack?
     Achilles’ self was not more grim and gory
Than thousands of this new and polished nation,
Whose names want nothing but—pronunciation.

15

Still I’ll record a few, if but to encrease
    Our euphony—there was Strongenoff, and Strokonoff,
Meknop, Serge Lwow, Arseniew of modern Greece,
    And Tschitsshakoff, and Roguenoff, and Chokenoff,
And others of twelve consonants a-piece;
     And more might be found out, if I could poke enough
Into gazettes; but Fame (capricious strumpet)
It seems, has got an ear as well as trumpet,

16

And cannot tune those discords of narration,
     Which may be names at Moscow, into rhyme;
Yet there were several worth commemoration,
     As ere was virgin of a nuptial chime;
Soft words too fitted for the peroration
    Of Londonderry, drawling against time,
Ending in “ischskin,” “ousckin,” “iffskchy,” “ouski,”
Of whom we can insert but Rousamouski.

17

Scherematoff and Chrematoff, Koklophti
    Koclobski, Kourakin, and Mouskin Pouskin,
All proper men of weapons, as e’er scoffed high
     Against a foe, or ran a sabre through skin:
Little cared they for Mahomet or Mufti,
     Unless to make their kettle drums a new skin
Out of their hides, if parchment had grown dear,
And no more handy substitute been near.

18

Then there were foreigners of much renown,
     Of various nations, and all volunteers;
Not fighting for their country or its crown,
    But wishing to be one day brigadiers;
Also to have the sacking of a town;
     A pleasant thing to young men at their years.
‘Mongst them were several Englishmen of pith,
Sixteen called Thomson, and nineteen named Smith.

19

Jack Thomson and Bill Thomson;—all the rest
    Had been called “Jemmy,” after the great bard;
I don’t know whether they had arms or crest,
     But such a godfather’s as good a card.
Three of the Smiths were Peters; but the best
     Amongst them all, hard blows to inflict or ward,
Was he, since so renowned “in country quarters
At Halifax”; but now he served the Tartars.

20

The rest were Jacks and Gills and Wills and Bills;
     But when I’ve added that the elder Jack Smith
Was born in Cumberland among the hills,
     And that his father was an honest blacksmith,
I’ve said all I know of a name that fills
    Three lines of the dispatch in taking “Schmacksmith,”
A village of Moldavia’s waste, wherein
He fell, immortal in a bulletin.