Canto 25: Stormclouds

The great mistake I made was in leaving Elba six months too soon. I ought to have waited till the Congress had been dissolved, in which case they would have had to dispatch couriers between the different courts that they might act in concert. This would have occasioned them great loss of time, and many difficulties, which were settled at once when the Congress was in session
Napoleon Bounaparte


British Reaction

The morning sun scatter’d cross the Solent,
A tranquil & yet deadly waterway,
Where slept the ever watchful instrument
That kept the Gallic conquerors at bay;
Ye mighty fleet,
Queen of the oceans vast,
Thy duty ne’er complete while France still decks a mast.

In the barracks mess at breakfast
Sat the half-dress’d soldiery,
Freddie Johnstone yells joyous blast
Tosses broadsheets flying free,
“Old Boney has broke free at last,
Fink he’ll face our ‘ookey!”
As the room rose the whole company roar’d
With thoughts of gaining glory by the sword.

The word spread round like raging fire,
“Great & glorious news!”
Time to retire thoughts of empire,
Pack up those marching shoes,
For once again brave Englishmen must battle with the blues.

March 10th


Return of Napoleon

Swept from the throne by mystical forces,
On gouty legs King Louis lugg’d his frame,
Shuffl’d out toward the waiting horses,
His ancestors all clamouring in shame;
Like bulging banks
Pockets stuff’d with riches,
With oer four million francs cramm’d in ammo boxes.

They fill’d the stony city square
With many a tricolour,
Seeming to flock from everywhere
To witness their emperor,
Who shush’d the cheers with one long stare,
“I’ll restore our honour!
Stolen by those nobles who kept their head,
Gorging on thy back-break & daily bread.”

To an ancyent saint’s tall steeple
High oer a Paris street
The first Eagle of the people
Observes the march complete –
Without bloodletting France’s Ceaser seizes back his seat.

March 19th


Portent of War

The winds of change have dwindl’d to a breeze,
The first Napoleon resumes his reign,
Renounces the lawless Bourbon decrees,
A man more powerful than Charlemagne;
Surrounded by
A court of men he made,
Who with a weary sigh prepare for war’s parade.

“All Europe declares war on you!”
“One man becomes one nation!”
“So be it! If peace shall not do
Increase the realms taxation,
A million muskets, Marshall Soult,
Treble the conscription,
Arm all the gendarmes, secure the borders,
Allez mon marshalles, await my orders.”

The city cool’d as blue moonlight
Shone with the tinkling stars,
The eagle’s flight span cross the night
To sweep across old Mars,
Who shone a little redder with the blood of coming wars.

March 22nd



Of a spring-time morning Silesian,
Midst the seedlings that sprout au naturale,
A deep-snoozing septegenarian
Retires into his calm idyllic shell;
Yet one eye strays
From his twilight slumber,
For thro’ the distant haze pricks a despatch rider.

The old man clasps the young mans hand,
“Vill you haf sausage or vine?”
“Nein, mein prince, for the Vaderland
Faces a perilous time
& in your hands total command,
Our army of the Rhine.”
“Vat is the reason behind this request?
“NAPOLEON has return’d to the nest!”

The fresh flight of that fearful bird
Wings deep into his core,
With but one word his mojo stirr’d,
The great, unsettl’d score,
How bloody shall the battles be in fields of mud & gore.

March 24th


War’s Sinew

Behind the hustle of a bustling street
The anglicis’d head of Europe’s Jewry
Invites his dinner guest to a retreat
For an apertif of ten-year brandy;
Midst rich décor
The niceties dissolve
Into stern talk of war’s most delicate resolve.

“Bounaparte must be defeated
To ensure a friendly France
& the German states united
Shall hold Europa’s balance…
My cabinet has requested,
Small matter of finance,
That is to say, five millions in specie,
Be handl’d by the Rothschild company”

“My firm accepts, the terms m’lord
Are two percent interest…”
The golden horde sharpens the sword
Plung’d in the Belgic breast…
Upon a sure-fire favourite do true gamblers invest.

March 27th


Wellington’s Return

Kiss’d by the fair ladies of Vienna
With calm countenance he waves them goodbye,
Departing on another adventure,
To claim a victory, defeat, or die;
Young Lord Lennox
Perch’d proudly by his side,
While plush-skinn’d carriage rocks beside the Danube’s glide.

The Duke spoke of his duel with France,
From the battle of Assaye,
To the Peninsular advance,
How many a bloody day?
As talk drifted toward the chance
Of him marching in May,
“I feel that month would be a month too soon,
One would imagine the middle of June.”

In famous fields they paused for gin
Where ribald Redcoat wit
Effused like sin, “Sir, shall we win?”
The duke observ’d them spit,
“Give me enough of those men there & I’ll be sure of it.”

March 31st


William DeLancey

As step-by-step they paced between the aisles
Of Greyfriars Kirk – him buck, she bonnie lass –
Memories melted in those passing smiles
To when they walked the gorge down to Dunglass;
No fairer rose
Could e’er this love entwine,
The perfect, ‘I am yours,’ the spotless, ‘you are mine.’

He was the quintessential breed,
Lord of an Age’s passions,
Beknighted, gallivanting steed
Spritely in brightest fashions,
All England’s soldiers his to feed,
Distributing rations –
An army marches, bully-beef & rum,
By inky blots of Quatermaster’s thumb.

Into the Belgic heart of hearts
The Iron Duke did steer
Twyx crows & carts, ‘Before it starts,
I want my best men here…
Yes, especially DeLancey, for him France holds no fear.’

April 4th


Marital Bliss

What dost thou do when one engorg’d with love
& that love’s source enarmour’d overseas?
‘Follow the Drum!’ lass be a little dove
& join those eagles swarming on the breeze;
As love demands
Such pangings to suspend,
Mrs DeLancey lands with luggage in Ostend.

In excuisite elevation
Over trees so fair & fine
Aided she the conversation
With proud cookery & wine,
‘Polyglot conglomoration!’
‘An overstretching line!’
Knowing death haunted every statement said,
She drove uncertain futures from her head.

That night they let desire reign
& fell, immesh’d, adream…
She felt his pain, him knelt, him slain…
She woke him with a scream,
‘Tis just a horrid nightmare, love, biting on a moonbeam.’

June 9th


Gathering the Guard

The marshall notices his thinning hair,
‘Napoleon, thine Armee de la Nord,
Awaits thee sire, the Guard is gather’d there;’
Up to the stars he thrust his glinting sword;
‘Within one week
My seat I shall secure,
Roast all that rooster meat upon this deadly skewer.’

He left fair Paris that hot June,
Went breakfasting at Soissons,
Then fell asleep beneath the moon
That glower’d light on Laon,
Another day, another swoon,
Then on into Beaumont,
This was the day, the day of destiny –
That evening saw him with the infantry;

To them a God-on-Earth return’d,
His glory theirs to gain,
Minerva churn’d, what fervour burn’d…
‘I hope you wont be slain,’
He thought, pinching a soldiers ear, devotion to obtain.

June 14th

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