Incident of the French Camp

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. 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. 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. “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,” his soldier’s pride   Touched to the quick, he said: “I ’m killed, sire!” And, his chief beside,   Smiling, the boy fell dead.