The town was taken—whether he might yield

Himself or bastion, little mattered now:

His stubborn valour was no future shield.

Ismail's no more! The Crescent's silver bow

Sunk, and the crimson Cross glared o'er the field,

But red with no redeeming gore: the glow

Of burning streets, like moonlight on the water,

Was imaged back in blood, the sea of slaughter.[IP]