his music's in!

[Enter COLONEL HEYMES, blood-stained, muddy, and breathless.]

HEYMES

The Prince of Moscow, sire, the Marshal Ney,
Bids me implore that infantry be sent
Immediately, to further his attack.
They cannot be dispensed with, save we fail!

NAPOLEON [furiously]

Infantry! Where the sacred God thinks he
I can find infantry for him! Forsooth,
Does he expect me to create them--eh?
Why sends he such a message, seeing well
How we are straitened here!

HEYMES

Such was the prayer
Of my commission, sire. And I say
That I myself have seen his strokes must waste
Without such backing.

NAPOLEON

Why?

HEYMES

Our cavalry
Lie stretched in swathes, fronting the furnace-throats
Of the English cannon as a breastwork built
Of reeking copses. Marshal Ney's third horse
Is shot. Besides the slain, Donop, Guyot,
Lheritier, Piquet, Travers, Delort, more,
Are vilely wounded. On the other hand
Wellington has sought refuge in a square,
Few of his generals are not killed or hit,
And all is tickle with him. But I see,
Likewise, that I can claim no reinforcement,
And will return and say so.

[Exit HEYMES]

NAPOLEON [to Soult, sadly]

Ney does win me!
I fain would strengthen him.--Within an ace
Of breaking down the English as he is,
'Twould write upon the sunset "Victory!"--
But whom may spare we from the right here now?
So single man!

[An interval.]

Life's curse begins, I see,
With helplessness!... All I can compass is
To send Durutte to fall on Papelotte,
And yet more strongly occupy La Haye,
To cut off Bulow's right from bearing up
And checking Ney's attack. Further than this
None but the Gods can scheme!

[SOULT hastily begins writing orders to that effect. The point
of view shifts.]

SCENE VII

THE SAME. THE ENGLISH POSITION

[The din of battle continues. WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, DE
LANCEY, GORDON, and others discovered near the middle of the line.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

It is a moment when the steadiest pulse
Thuds pit-a-pat. The crisis shapes and nears
For Wellington as for his counter-chief.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The hour is shaking him, unshakeable
As he may seem!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Know'st not at this stale time