But let me put an end unto my theme: There was an end of Ismail--hapless town! Far flashed her burning towers o'er Danube's stream, And redly ran his blushing waters down. The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream Rose still; but fainter were the thunders grown: Of forty thousand who had manned the wall, Some hundreds breathed--the rest were silent all![474] CXXVIII. In one thing ne'ertheless 't is fit to praise The Russian army upon this occasion, A virtue much in fashion now-a-days, And therefore worthy of commemoration:[ir] The topic's tender, so shall be my phrase-- Perhaps the season's chill, and their long station In Winter's depth, or want of rest and victual, Had made them chaste;--they ravished very little. CXXIX. Much did they slay, more plunder, and no less Might here and there occur some violation In the other line;--but not to such excess As when the French, that dissipated nation, Take towns by storm: no causes can I guess, Except cold weather and commiseration;[is] But all the ladies, save some twenty score, Were almost as much virgins as before. CXXX. Some odd mistakes, too, happened in the dark, Which showed a want of lanterns, or of taste-- Indeed the smoke was such they scarce could mark Their friends from foes,--besides such things from haste Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark Of light to save the venerably chaste: But six old damsels, each of seventy years, Were all deflowered by different grenadiers. CXXXI. But on the whole their continence was great; So that some disappointment there ensued To those who had felt the inconvenient state Of "single blessedness," and thought it good (Since it was not their fault, but only fate, To bear these crosses) for each waning prude To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding, Without the expense and the suspense of bedding. CXXII. Some voices of the buxom middle-aged Were also heard to wonder in the din (Widows of forty were these birds long caged) "Wherefore the ravishing did not begin!" But while the thirst for gore and plunder raged, There was small leisure for superfluous sin; But whether they escaped or no, lies hid In darkness--I can only hope they did. CXXXIII. Suwarrow now was conqueror--a match For Timour or for Zinghis in his trade. While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, like thatch Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce allayed, With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch; And here exactly follows what he said:-- "Glory to _God_ and to the Empress!" (_Powers Eternal! such names mingled!_) "Ismail's ours."[475] CXXXIV.