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. Also he dress’d up, for the nonce, fascines Like men with turbans, scimitars, and dirks, And made them charge with bayonet these machines, By way of lesson against actual Turks: And when well practised in these mimic scenes, He judged them proper to assail the works; At which your wise men sneer’d in phrases witty: He made no answer; but he took the city. Most things were in this posture on the eve Of the assault, and all the camp was in A stern repose; which you would scarce conceive; Yet men resolved to dash through thick and thin Are very silent when they once believe That all is settled:—there was little din, For some were thinking of their home and friends, And others of themselves and latter ends. Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert, Surveying, drilling, ordering, jesting, pondering; For the man was, we safely may assert, A thing to wonder at beyond most wondering; Hero, buffoon, half-demon, and half-dirt, Praying, instructing, desolating, plundering; Now Mars, now Momus; and when bent to storm A fortress, Harlequin in uniform. The day before the assault, while upon drill— For this great conqueror play’d the corporal— Some Cossacques, hovering like hawks round a hill, Had met a party towards the twilight’s fall, One of whom spoke their tongue—or well or ill, ’Twas much that he was understood at all; But whether from his voice, or speech, or manner, They found that he had fought beneath their banner. Whereon immediately at his request They brought him and his comrades to head-quarters; Their dress was Moslem, but you might have guess’d That these were merely masquerading Tartars, And that beneath each Turkish-fashion’d vest Lurk’d Christianity; which sometimes barters Her inward grace for outward show, and makes It difficult to shun some strange mistakes. Suwarrow, who was standing in his shirt Before a company of Calmucks, drilling, Exclaiming, fooling, swearing at the inert, And lecturing on the noble art of killing,— For deeming human clay but common dirt, This great philosopher was thus instilling His maxims, which to martial comprehension Proved death in battle equal to a pension;— Suwarrow, when he saw this company Of Cossacques and their prey, turn’d round and cast Upon them his slow brow and piercing eye:— ‘Whence come ye?’—‘From Constantinople last, Captives just now escaped,’ was the reply. ‘What are ye?’—‘What you see us.’ Briefly pass’d This dialogue; for he who answer’d knew To whom he spoke, and made his words but few.