Incident of the French Camp
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- You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon:
- A mile or so away
- On a little mound, Napoleon
- Stood on our storming-day;
- With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
- Legs wide, arms lock'd behind,
- As if to balance the prone brow
- Oppressive with its mind.
- Just as perhaps he mus'd "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 reach'd the mound.
- Then off there flung in smiling joy,
- And held himself erect
- By just his horse's mane, a boy:
- You hardly could suspect—
- (So tight he kept his lips compress'd,
- Scarce any blood came through)
- You look'd twice ere you saw his breast
- Was all but shot in two.
- "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace
- We've got you Ratisbon!
- The Marshal's in the market-place,
- And you'll be there anon
- To see your flag-bird flap his vans
- Where I, to heart's desire,
- Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
- Soared up again like fire.
- The chief's eye flashed; but presently
- Softened itself, as sheathes
- A film the mother-eagle's eye
- When her bruised eaglet breathes;
- "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride
- Touched to the quick, he said:
- "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,
- Smiling the boy fell dead.
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