And fact is Truth, the grand desideratum!
Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each act,
There should be ne'ertheless a slight substratum.
But now the town is going to be attacked;
Great deeds are doing—how shall I relate 'em?
Souls of immortal Generals! Phoebus watches
To colour up his rays from your despatches.[HX]
LXXXII.
Oh, ye great bulletins of Bonaparte!
Oh, ye less grand long lists of killed and wounded!