"The Seraskier is knocked upon the head,

But the stone bastion still remains, wherein

The old Pacha sits among some hundreds dead,

Smoking his pipe quite calmly 'midst the din

Of our artillery and his own: 't is said

Our killed, already piled up to the chin,

Lie round the battery; but still it batters,

And grape in volleys, like a vineyard, scatters.