from Canto VIII

91

Upon a taken bastion where there lay
     Thousands of slaughtered men, a yet warm group
Of murdered women, who had found their way
     To this vain refuge, made the good heart droop
And shudder;—while, as beautiful as May,
     A female child of ten years tried to stoop
And hide her little palpitating breast
Amidst the bodies lulled in bloody rest.

92

Two villainous Cossacques pursued the child
     With flashing eyes and weapons: matched with them
The rudest brute that roams Siberia’s wild
     Has feelings pure and polished as a gem,—
The bear is civilized, the wolf is mild:
     And whom for this at last must we condemn?
Their natures? or their sovereigns, who employ
All arts to teach their subjects to destroy?

93

Their sabres glittered o’er her little head,
    Whence her fair hair rose twining with affright,
Her hidden face was plunged amidst the dead:
     When Juan caught a glimpse of this sad sight,
I shall not say exactly what he said,
     Because it might not solace “ears polite”;
But what he did, was to lay on their backs,
The readiest way of reasoning with Cossacques.

94

One’s hip he slashed, and split the other’s shoulder,
     And drove them with their brutal yells to seek
If there might be chirurgeons who could solder
     The wounds they richly merited, and shriek
Their baffled rage and pain; while waxing colder
     As he turned o’er each pale and gory cheek,
Don Juan raised his little captive from
The heap a moment more had made her tomb.

95

And she was chill as they, and on her face
     A slender streak of blood announced how near
Her fate had been to that of all her race;
     For the same blow which laid her Mother here,
Had scarred her brow, and left its crimson trace
     As the last link with all she had held dear;
But else unhurt, she opened her large eyes,
And gazed on Juan with a wild surprise.

96

Just at this instant, while their eyes were fixed
     Upon each other, with dilated glance,
In Juan’s look, pain, pleasure, hope, fear, mixed
    With joy to save, and dread of some mischance
Unto his protge; while her’s, transfixed
     With infant terrors, glared as from a trance,
A pure, transparent, pale, yet radiant face,
Like to a lighted alabaster vase;—

97

Up came John Johnson: (I will not say “Jack,”
     For that were vulgar, cold, and common place
On great occasions, such as an attack
     On cities, as hath been the present case):
Up Johnson came, with hundreds at his back,
     Exclaiming:—”Juan! Juan! On, boy! brace
Your arm, and I’ll bet Moscow to a dollar,
That you and I will win St. George’s collar.

98

“The Seraskier is knocked upon the head,
     But the stone bastion still remains, wherein
The old Pacha sits among some hundreds dead,
     Smoking his pipe quite calmly ‘midst the din
Of our artillery and his own: ‘tis said
     Our killed, already piled up to the chin,
Lie round the battery; but still it batters,
And grape in volleys, like a vineyard, scatters.

99

“Then up with me!”—But Juan answered, “Look
     Upon this child—I saved her—must not leave
Her life to chance; but point me out some nook
     Of safety, where she less may shrink and grieve,
And I am with you.”—Whereon Johnson took
     A glance around—and shrugged—and twitched his sleeve
And black silk neckcloth—and replied, “You’re right;
Poor thing! what’s to be done? I’m puzzled quite.”

100

Said Juan—”Whatsoever is to be
     Done, I’ll not quit her till she seems secure
Of present life a good deal more than we.”—
     Quoth Johnson—”Neither will I quite ensure;
But at the least you may die gloriously.”—
     Juan replied—”At least I will endure
Whate’er is to be borne—but not resign
This child, who is parentless and therefore mine.”