way in which the "strange and winged" fancy of the poet may take its
flight from so simple an object as this tapestried horse, evidently a
sorry beast too, in its needled presentment, or the poetic impulse
would not have expressed itself in the vindictive, "I never saw a
horse [sic] I hated so."]





INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

I

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.

II

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall, 10
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall."
0ut 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew