I. <br /> <br />You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: <br /> A mile or so away, <br />On a little mound, Napoleon <br /> Stood on our storming-day; <br />With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, <br /> Legs wide, arms locked behind, <br />As if to balance the prone brow <br /> Oppressive with its mind. <br /> <br /> II. <br /> <br />Just as perhaps he mused ``My plans <br /> ``That soar, to earth may fall, <br />``Let once my army-leader Lannes <br /> ``Waver at yonder wall,''--- <br />Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew <br /> A rider, bound on bound <br />Full-galloping; nor bridle drew <br /> Until he reached the mound. <br /> <br /> III. <br /> <br />Then off there flung in smiling joy, <br /> And held himself erect <br />By just his horse's mane, a boy: <br /> You hardly could suspect--- <br />(So tight he kept his lips compressed, <br /> Scarce any blood came through) <br />You looked twice ere you saw his breast <br /> Was all but shot in two. <br /> <br /> IV. <br /> <br />``Well,'' cried he, ``Emperor, by God's grace <br /> ``We've got you Ratisbon! <br />``The Marshal's in the market-place, <br /> ``And you'll be there anon <br />``To see your flag-bird flap his vans <br /> ``Where I, to heart's desire, <br />``Perched him!'' The chief's eye flashed; his plans <br /> Soared up again like fire. <br /> <br /> V. <br /> <br />The chief's eye flashed; but presently <br /> Softened itself, as sheathes <br />A film the mother-eagle's eye <br /> When her bruised eaglet breathes; <br />``You're wounded!'' ``Nay,'' the soldier's pride <br /> Touched to the quick, he said: <br />``I'm killed, Sire!'' And his chief beside <br /> Smiling the boy fell dead.<br /><br />Robert Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/incident-of-the-french-camp/
