XCIII.

Their sabres glittered o'er her little head, Whence her fair hair rose twining with affright, Her hidden face was plunged amidst the dead: When Juan caught a glimpse of this sad sight, I shall not say exactly what he _said_, Because it might not solace "ears polite;"[463] But what he _did_, was to lay on their backs, The readiest way of reasoning with Cossacques.