and deep-serried ranks, drawn up round that same silent
Windmill, on his knoll of strength; Brunswick, also, with serried ranks
and cannon, glooming over to him from the height of La Lune; only the
little brook and its little dell now parting them.

So that the much-longed-for has come at last! Instead of hunger and
dysentery, we shall have sharp shot; and then!--Dumouriez, with force
and firm front, looks on from a neighbouring height; can help only with
his wishes, in silence. Lo, the eighteen pieces do bluster and bark,
responsive to the bluster of La Lune; and thunder-clouds mount into the
air; and echoes roar through all dells, far into the depths of Argonne
Wood (deserted now); and limbs and lives of men fly dissipated, this
way and that. Can Brunswick make an impression on them? The dull-bright
Seigneurs stand biting their thumbs: these Sansculottes seem not to fly
like poultry! Towards noontide a cannon-shot blows Kellermann's horse
from under him; there bursts a powder-cart high into the air, with knell
heard over all: some swagging and swaying observable;--Brunswick will
try! "Camarades," cries Kellermann, "Vive la Patria! Allons vaincre pour
elle, Let us conquer." "Live the Fatherland!" rings responsive, to the
welkin, like rolling-fire from side to side: our ranks are as firm as
rocks; and Brunswick may recross the dell, ineffectual; regain his old
position on La Lune; not unbattered by the way. And so, for the length
of a September day,--with bluster and bark; with bellow far echoing! The
cannonade lasts till sunset; and no impression made. Till an hour after
sunset, the few remaining Clocks of the District striking Seven; at this
late time of day Brunswick tries again. With not a whit better fortune!
He is met by rock-ranks, by shouts of Vive la Patrie; and driven back,
not unbattered. Whereupon he ceases; retires 'to the Tavern of La Lune;'
and sets to raising a redoute lest he be attacked!

Verily so: ye dulled-bright Seigneurs, make of it what ye may. Ah, and
France does not rise round us in mass; and the Peasants do not join us,
but assassinate us: neither hanging nor any persuasion will induce
them! They have lost their old distinguishing love of King, and
King's-cloak,--I fear, altogether; and will even fight to be rid of it:
that seems now their humour. Nor does Austria prosper, nor the siege
of Thionville. The Thionvillers, carrying their insolence to the
epigrammatic pitch, have put a Wooden Horse