There was a man, if that he was a man, Not that his manhood could be call'd in question, For had he not been Hercules, his span Had been as short in youth as indigestion Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan, He died beneath a tree, as much unblest on The soil of the green province he had wasted, As e'er was locust on the land it blasted.
This was Potemkin- a great thing in days When homicide and harlotry made great;
If stars and titles could entail long praise, His glory might half equal his estate.
This fellow, being six foot high, could raise A kind of phantasy proportionate In the then sovereign of the Russian people, Who measured men as you would do a steeple.
While things were in abeyance, Ribas sent A courier to the prince, and he succeeded In ordering matters after his own bent;
I cannot tell the way in which he pleaded, But shortly he had cause to be content.
In the mean time, the batteries proceeded, And fourscore cannon on the Danube's border Were briskly fired and answer'd in due order.
But on the thirteenth, when already part Of the troops were embark'd, the siege to raise, A courier on the spur inspired new heart Into all panters for newspaper praise, As well as dilettanti in war's art, By his despatches couch'd in pithy phrase;
Announcing the appointment of that lover of Battles to the command, Field-Marshal Souvaroff.
The letter of the prince to the same marshal Was worthy of a Spartan, had the cause Been one to which a good heart could be partial-Defence of freedom, country, or of laws;
But as it was mere lust of power to o'er-arch all With its proud brow, it merits slight applause, Save for its style, which said, all in a trice, 'You will take Ismail at whatever price.'
'Let there be light! said God, and there was light!'
'Let there be blood!' says man, and there 's a seal The fiat of this spoil'd child of the Night (For Day ne'er saw his merits) could decree More evil in an hour, than thirty bright Summers could renovate, though they should be Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's fruit;
For war cuts up not only branch, but root.
Our friends the Turks, who with loud 'Allahs' now Began to signalise the Russ retreat, Were damnably mistaken; few are slow In thinking that their enemy is beat (Or beaten, if you insist on grammar, though I never think about it in a heat), But here I say the Turks were much mistaken, Who hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their bacon.
For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop, drew In sight two horsemen, who were deem'd Cossacques For some time, till they came in nearer view.
They had but little baggage at their backs, For there were but three shirts between the two;
But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks, Till, in approaching, were at length descried In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his guide.
'Great joy to London now!' says some great fool, When London had a grand illumination, Which to that bottle-conjurer, John Bull, Is of all dreams the first hallucination;
So that the streets of colour'd lamps are full, That Sage (said john) surrenders at discretion His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his nonsense, To gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense.
'T is strange that he should farther 'damn his eyes,'
For they are damn'd; that once all-famous oath Is to the devil now no farther prize, Since John has lately lost the use of both.
Debt he calls wealth, and taxes Paradise;
And Famine, with her gaunt and bony growth, Which stare him in the face, he won't examine, Or swears that Ceres hath begotten Famine.
But to the tale:- great joy unto the camp!
To Russian, Tartar, English, French, Cossacque, O'er whom Suwarrow shone like a gas lamp, Presaging a most luminous attack;
Or like a wisp along the marsh so damp, Which leads beholders on a boggy walk, He flitted to and fro a dancing light, Which all who saw it follow'd, wrong or right.
But certes matters took a different face;
There was enthusiasm and much applause, The fleet and camp saluted with great grace, And all presaged good fortune to their cause.
Within a cannon-shot length of the place They drew, constructed ladders, repair'd flaws In former works, made new, prepared fascines, And all kinds of benevolent machines.
'T is thus the spirit of a single mind Makes that of multitudes take one direction, As roll the waters to the breathing wind, Or roams the herd beneath the bull's protection;
Or as a little dog will lead the blind, Or a bell-wether form the flock's connection By tinkling sounds, when they go forth to victual;
Such is the sway of your great men o'er little.
The whole camp rung with joy; you would have thought That they were going to a marriage feast (This metaphor, I think, holds good as aught, Since there is discord after both at least):
There was not now a luggage boy but sought Danger and spoil with ardour much increased;
And why? because a little- odd- old man, Stript to his shirt, was come to lead the van.
But so it was; and every preparation Was made with all alacrity: the first Detachment of three columns took its station, And waited but the signal's voice to burst Upon the foe: the second's ordination Was also in three columns, with a thirst For glory gaping o'er a sea of slaughter:
The third, in columns two, attack'd by water.
New batteries were erected, and was held A general council, in which unanimity, That stranger to most councils, here prevail'd, As sometimes happens in a great extremity;
And every difficulty being dispell'd, Glory began to dawn with due sublimity, While Souvaroff, determined to obtain it, Was teaching his recruits to use the bayonet It is an actual fact, that he, commander In chief, in proper person deign'd to drill The awkward squad, and could afford to squander His time, a corporal's duty to fulfil:
Just as you 'd break a sucking salamander To swallow flame, and never take it ill:
He show'd them how to mount a ladder (which Was not like Jacob's) or to cross a ditch.
