INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

127

Incident of the French Camp.

OU know we French stormed Ratisbon:

You

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.

ROBERT BROWNING.

'T

Badajos.

WAS at Badajos one evening, one evening in May,

That we turned to rest ourselves after a bloody day; For the cannon had ceased roaring and the battle-cry was

still,

And though beneath a Spanish sky, the air was keen and chill.

That day there had been meeting, fierce meeting on the plain,
That day full many an eye had closed to open not again;
But now the battle-cry was still, the trumpet had rung out,
And the British banner flapped above each fortified redoubt.

Then we turned ourselves in gladness, we turned unto our board,

And each man put off his helmet, his musket, and his sword; Then we called our muster over, but one answered not the

call,

'T was the youngest and the bravest and the noblest of us

all.

He had gone forth at morning with the bugle's first shrill

sound;

He had gone forth at morning with a smile and with a bound, As he took his sabre from the wall and waved it in the air; But at night his place was empty, and untenanted his chair.

HOHENLINDEN.

129

By torchlight then we sought him, we sought him on the plain (God grant that I may never look on such a sight again), 'Mid the moaning and the tortured and the dying and the

dead,

Who were lying, heaped together, on their green and grassy bed.

But at last we stumbled o'er him (for the stars were waxing

pale,

And our torches flared and flickered in the breathings of the

gale).

Ten paces from his comrades he was lying all alone,

Half shrouded in the colors, with his head upon a stone.

We lifted him, we carried him, it was a weary track,
And we laid him down all tenderly within our bivouac.
He was dead long ere we laid him, ere we laid him on the
ground;

But perhaps he had not suffered, for he died without a sound.

Then we turned ourselves in sadness, we turned unto our board,

And each man put off his helmet, his musket, and his sword; And with the dead before us, by the blaze of the red pine, We strove to pass the wine-cup, and to drain the ruby wine.

But our revel was a sad one; so awhile in prayer we kneeled, Then slumbered till the morning called us forth unto the field : Then we called our muster over, but one answered not the call,

'T was the youngest and the bravest and the noblest of us all. ANONYMOUS.

Hohenlinden.

N Linden, when the sun was low,

ON

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

BY THE ALMA RIVER

131

By the Alma River.

W Let it drop, that soldier toy :

ILLIE, fold your little hands;

--

Look where father's picture stands, -
Father, who here kissed his boy
Not two months since — father kind,
Who this night may —
Never mind
Mother's sob, my Willie dear,
Call aloud that He may hear
Who is God of battles, - say,
"Oh, keep father safe this day
By the Alma River."

Ask no more, child. Never heed

Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk,

Right of nations or of creed,

Chance-poised victory's bloody work:

Any flag i' the wind may roll
On thy heights, Sebastopol!

Willie, all to you and me

Is that spot, where'er it be,

Where he stands - no other word!

Stands - God sure the child's prayer heard –
By the Alma River.

Willie, listen to the bells

Ringing through the town to-day.

That's for victory. Ah, no knells

Let us weep,

For the many swept away
Hundreds - thousands!
We, who need not just to keep
Reason steady in my brain
Till the morning comes again;
Till the third dread morning tell
Who they were that fought and fell
By the Alma River.