Where we are weakest! It surpasses me To understand why was our centre thinned To pillar up our right already strong, Where nought is doing, while our left assault Stands ill-supported? [Time passes in silence.] Yes, it is so. See, The enemy strikes Rossenberg in flank, Compelling him to fall behind the Russbach! [The EMPEROR gets excited, and his face perspires. At length he cannot watch through his glass, and walks up and down.] Penned useless here my nerves annoy my sight! Inform me what you note.--I should opine The Wagram height behind impregnable? [Another silence, broken by the distant roar of the guns.] OFFICER Klenau and Kollowrath are pounding on! To turn the enemy's left with our strong right Is, after all, a plan that works out well. Hiller and Lichtenstein conjoin therein. FRANCIS I hear from thence appalling cannonades. OFFICER 'Tis their, your Majesty. Now we shall see If the French read that there the danger lies. FRANCIS I only pray that Bonaparte refrain From spying danger there till all too late! OFFICER [involuntarily, after a pause] Ah, Heaven! FRANCIS [turning sharply] Well, well? What changes figure now? OFFICER They pierce our centre, sire! We are, despite, Not centrally so weak as I supposed. Well done, Bellegarde! FRANCIS [glancing to the centre] And what has he well done? OFFICER The French in fierce fume broke through Aderklaa; But Bellegarde, pricking along the plain behind, Has charged and driven them back disorderly. The Archduke Charles bounds thither, as I shape, In person to support him! [The EMPEROR returns to his spyglass; and they and others watch in silence, sometimes the right of their front, sometimes the centre.] FRANCIS It is so! That the right attack of ours spells victory, And Austria's grand salvation!... [Times passes.] Turn your glass, And closely scan Napoleon and his aides Hand-galloping towards his centre-left To strengthen it against the brave Bellegarde. Does your eye reach him?--That white horse, alone In front of those that move so rapidly. OFFICER It does, sire; though my glass can conjure not So cunningly as yours.... that horse must be The famed Euphrates--him the Persian king Sent Bonaparte as gift. [A silence. NAPOLEON reaches a carriage that is moving across. It bears MASSENA, who, having received a recent wound, in unable to ride.] FRANCIS See, the white horse and horseman pause beside A coach for some strange reason rolling there.... That white-horsed rider--yes!--is Bonaparte, By the aides hovering round.... New war-wiles have been worded; we shall spell Their purport soon enough! [An interval.] The French take heart To stand to our battalions steadfastly, And hold their ground, having the Emperor near!