Wessex Poems and Other Verses

That smote along the pane?

– A call of mastery, bidding me arise,
Compelled me to the door,
At which a horseman stood in martial guise —
Splashed – sweating from every pore.

Had I seen Grouchy?  Yes?  Which track took he?
Could I lead thither on? —
Fulfilment would ensure gold pieces three,
Perchance more gifts anon.

“I bear the Emperor’s mandate,” then he said,
“Charging the Marshal straight
To strike between the double host ahead
Ere they co-operate,

“Engaging Blücher till the Emperor put
Lord Wellington to flight,
And next the Prussians.  This to set afoot
Is my emprise to-night.”

I joined him in the mist; but, pausing, sought
To estimate his say.
Grouchy had made for Wavre; and yet, on thought,
I did not lead that way.

I mused: “If Grouchy thus instructed be
The clash comes sheer hereon;My farm is stript.
While, as for pieces three,
Money the French have none.

“Grouchy unwarned, moreo’er, the English win,
And mine is left to me —
They buy, not borrow.” – Hence did I begin
To lead him treacherously.

By Joidoigne, near to east, as we ondrew,
Dawn pierced the humid air;
And eastward faced I with him, though I knew
Never marched Grouchy there.

Near Ottignies we passed, across the Dyle
(Lim’lette left far aside),
And thence direct toward Pervez and Noville
Through green grain, till he cried:

“I doubt thy conduct, man! no track is here —
I doubt thy gagèd word!
Thereat he scowled on me, and pranced me near,
And pricked me with his sword.

“Nay, Captain, hold!  We skirt, not trace the course
Of Grouchy,” said I then:
“As we go, yonder went he, with his force
Of thirty thousand men.”

– At length noon nighed; when west, from Saint-John’s-Mound,
A hoarse artillery boomed,
And from Saint-Lambert’s upland, chapel-crowned,
The Prussian squadrons loomed.

Then to the wayless wet gray ground he leapt;
“My mission fails!” he cried;
“Too late for Grouchy now to intercept,
For, peasant, you have lied!”

He turned to pistol me.  I sprang, and drew
The sabre from his flank,
And ’twixt his nape and shoulder, ere he knew,
I struck, and dead he sank.

I hid him deep in nodding rye and oat —
His shroud green stalks and loam;
His requiem the corn-blade’s husky note —
And then I hastened home,.

– Two armies writhe in coils of red and blue,
And brass and iron clang
From Goumont, past the front of Waterloo,
To Pap’lotte and Smohain.

The Guard Imperial wavered on the height;
The Emperor’s face grew glum;
“I sent,” he said, “to Grouchy yesternight,
And yet he does not come!”

’Twas then, Good Father, that the French espied,
Streaking the summer land,
The men of Blücher.  But the Emperor cried,
“Grouchy is now at hand!”

And meanwhile Vand’leur, Vivian, Maitland, Kempt,
Met d’Erlon, Friant, Ney;
But Grouchy – mis-sent, blamed, yet blame-exempt —
Grouchy was far away.

By even, slain or struck, Michel the strong,
Bold Travers, Dnop, Delord,Smart Guyot,
Reil-le, l’Heriter, Friant,