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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, | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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— | 20 |
| (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, “Emporor, by God’s grace | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| Perch’d him!” The chief’s eye flash’d; his plans | |
| Soar’d up again like fire, | |
| |
| The chief’s eye flash’d; but presently | |
| Soften’d itself, as sheathes | |
| A film the mothe-eagle’s eye | 35 |
| When her bruis’d eaglet breathes. | |
| “You ’re wounded!” “Nay,” the soldier’s pride | |
| Touch’d to the quick, he said: | |
| “I ’m kill’d, Sire!” And his chief beside, | |
| Smiling the boy fell dead. | 40 |
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