War Poetry
Robert Browning
1812 - 1889
Incident of the French Camp
I
You know, we French stormed 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 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 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 breast
Was all but shot in two.
IV
`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.
V
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