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George Gordon Byron - The Siege Of Corinth
Work rating: Medium

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But War had enter`d their dark caves, 
And stored along the vaulted graves 
Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread 
In masses by the fleshless dead: 
  Here, throughout the siege, had been 
  The Christians` chiefest magazine; 
To these a late-form`d train now led, 
Minotti`s last and stern resource, 
Against the foe`s o`erwhelming force. 

XXXII. 
The foe came on, and few remain 
To strive, and those must strive in vain: 
For lack of further lives, to slake 
The thirst of vengeance now awake, 
With barbarous blows they gash the dead, 
And lop the already lifeless head, 
And fell the statues from their niche, 
And spoil the shrine of offerings rich, 
And from each other`s rude hands wrest 
The silver vessels saints had bless`d. 
To the high altar on they go; 
Oh, but it made a glorious show! 
On its table still behold 
The cup of consecrated gold; 
Massy and deep, a glittering prize, 
Brightly it sparkles to plunderers` eyes: 
That morn it held the holy wine, 
Converted by Christ to His blood so divine, 
Which His worshippers drank at the break of day 
To shrive their souls ere they join`d in the fray, 
Still a few drops within it lay; 
And round the sacred table glow 
Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row, 
From the purest metal cast; 
A spoil — the richest, and the last. 

XXXIII. 
So near they came, the nearest stretch`d 
To grasp the spoil he almost reach`d 
  When old Minotti`s hand 
Touch`d with a torch the train — 
    `Tis fired! 
Spire, vaults, and shrine, the spoil, the slain, 
  The turban`d victors, the Christian band, 
All that of living or dead remain, 
Hurl`d on high with the shiver`d fane, 
    In one wild roar expired! 
The shatter`d town — the walls thrown down — 
The waves a moment backward bent — 
The hills that shake, although unrent, 
    As if an earthquake pass`d — 
The thousand shapeless things all driven 
In cloud and flame athwart the heaven, 
    By that tremendous blast — 
Proclaim`d the desperate conflict o`er 
On that too long afflicted shore! 
Up to the sky like rockets go 
All that mingled there below: 
Many a tall and goodly man, 
Scorch`d and shrivell`d to a span, 
When he fell to earth again 
Like a cinder strew`d the plain: 
Down the ashes shower like rain; 
Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles 
With a thousand circling wrinkles; 
Some fell on the shore, but, far away, 
Scatter`d o`er the isthmus lay; 
Christian or Moslem, which be they? 
Let their mothers see and say! 
When in cradled rest they lay, 
And each nursing mother smiled 
On the sweet sleep of her child, 
Little deem`d she such a day 
Would rend those tender limbs away. 
Not the matrons that them bore 
Could discern their offspring more; 
That one moment left no trace 
More of human form or face 
Save a scatter`d scalp or bone: 
And down came blazing rafters, strown 
Around, and many a falling stone, 
Deeply dinted in the clay, 
All blacken`d there and reeking lay. 
All the living things that heard 
That deadly earth-shock disappear`d. 
The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled, 
And howling left the unburied dead; 
The camels from their keepers broke; 
The distant steer forsook the yoke — 
The nearer steed plunged o`er the plain, 
And burst his girth, and tore his rein; 
The bull-frog`s note, from out the marsh, 
Deep-mouth`d arose, and doubly harsh; 
The wolves yell`d on the cavern`d hill 
Where echo roll`d in thunder still; 
The jackal`s troop, in gather`d cry,  
Bay`d from afar complainingly, 
With mix`d and mournful sound, 
Like crying babe, and beaten hound: 
With sudden wing, and ruffled breast, 
The eagle left his rocky nest, 
  And mounted nearer to the sun, 
  The clouds beneath him seem`d so dun 
Their smoke assail`d his startled beak, 
And made him higher soar and shriek — 
  Thus was Corinth lost and won!
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