Incident of the French Camp
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:A mile or so awayOn a little mound, NapoleonStood on our storming-day;With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone browOppressive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused "My plansThat soar, to earth may fall,Let once my army-leader LannesWaver at yonder wall"--Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flewA rider, bound on boundFull-galloping; nor bridle drewUntil he reached the mound,
Then off there flung in smiling joy,And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy:You hardly could suspect--(So tight he kept his lips compressed.Scarce any blood came through)You looked twice ere you saw his breastWas all but shot in two.
"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's graceWe've got you Ratisbon!The Marshal's in the market-place,And you'll be there anonTo see your flag-bird flap his vansWhere I, to heart's desire,Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plansSoared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presentlySoftened itself, as sheathesA film the mother-eagle's eyeWhen her bruised eaglet breathes."You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's prideTouched to the quick, he said:"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,Smiling, the boy fell dead.
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