Bells and Pomegranates, First Series/Camp (French)

by Robert Browning

For other versions of this work, see Camp (French).

CAMP AND CLOISTER.

I.—CAMP. (French.)

i.You know we French stormed Ratisbon:⁠A mile or so awayOn a little mound, Napoléon⁠Stood on our storming-day;With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,⁠Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone brow⁠Oppressive 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 flew⁠A rider, bound on boundFull-galloping; nor bridle drew⁠Until he reached the mound.

iii.Then off there flung in smiling joy,⁠And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy:⁠You hardly could suspect—(So tight he kept his lips compressed⁠Scarce any blood came thro') You looked twice ere you saw his breast⁠Was all but shot in two.

iv."Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace⁠We've got you Ratisbon!The Marshal's in the market-place,⁠And you'll be there anonTo see your flag-bird flap his vans⁠Where I, to heart's desire,Perched him!" The Chief's eye flashed; his plans⁠Soared up again like fire.

v.The Chief's eye flashed; but presently⁠Softened itself, as sheathesA film the mother-eagle's eye⁠When her bruised eaglet breathes:"You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride⁠Touched to the quick, he said:"I'm killed, Sire!" And, his Chief beside,⁠Smiling the boy fell dead.