Cantos CXXII to CXXIV 


CXXII 
The town was taken--whether he might yield 
Himself or bastion, little matter'd now: 
His stubborn valour was no future shield. 
Ismail's no more! The Crescent's silver bow 
Sunk, and the crimson Cross glar'd o'er the field, 
But red with no redeeming gore: the glow 
Of burning streets, like moonlight on the water, 
Was imag'd back in blood, the sea of slaughter. 

CXXIII 
All that the mind would shrink from of excesses; 
All that the body perpetrates of bad; 
All that we read, hear, dream, of man's distresses; 
All that the Devil would do if run stark mad; 
All that defies the worst which pen expresses; 
All by which Hell is peopl'd, or as sad 
As Hell--mere mortals, who their power abuse-- 
Was here (as heretofore and since) let loose. 

CXXIV 
If here and there some transient trait of pity 
Was shown, and some more noble heart broke through 
Its bloody bond, and sav'd perhaps some pretty 
Child, or an aged, helpless man or two-- 
What's this in one annihilated city, 
Where thousand loves, and ties, and duties grew? 
Cockneys of London! Muscadins of Paris! 
Just ponder what a pious pastime war is.