Incident Of The French Camp
By Robert Browning
I.
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napolon
Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.
II.
Just as perhaps he mused My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,
Out twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.
III.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horses 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 breast
Was all but shot in two.
IV.
Well, cried he, Emperor, by Gods grace
Weve got you Ratisbon!
The Marshals in the market-place,
And youll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to hearts desire,
Perched him! The chiefs eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.
V.
The chiefs eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagles eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes;
Youre wounded! Nay, the soldiers pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
Im killed, Sire! And his chief beside
Smiling the boy fell dead.