Incident of the French Camp

While sifting through poems to find one I wanted to teach, I came across a poem by Robert Browning: Incident of the French Camp. My dad used to read this poem to my brother and me when we were young. When I read it now, I still hear it the way he intepreted it.

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,
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,
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 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--
(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, "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," the soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.

Monsieur Moustaches

Unfortunately, I am sick again. I seem to have a frog in my throat, (or a cat in my throat, as the French say.) Be it cat or frog, my sickness has left me with time to update my blog. I thought this might be a good opportunity to post some pictures of Monsieur Moustaches. For those who don't remember, Monsieur Moustaches is the rabbit, a.k.a "lawn mower," in the backyard.

In this picture you can see his cage. We move it around the lawn so he can mow different areas.


Moustaches, tending to his mowing duties.


Moustaches chewing hopelessly at the bars of his eternal prison. Awwwww! He's so cute!