Then a council was held, and the commandant said
Direst peril was near; they must summon swift aid
From the Marshal, or all would be lost ere the sun
Of to‐morrow went down in the west. Was there one
Who, to save the command and the honor of France,
Would ride forth with despatches? He ceased, and a glance
At the bronzed faces near showed that spirits to dare
Any desperate deed under heaven were there.
But the first to arise and respond was a youth
Whose brow bore nature’s signet of courage and truth,
In whose eye valor shone calm and clear as a star
When the winds are at rest and the clouds fade afar.
Who was he that stood forth with such resolute air?
Young Lieutenant MacMahon, bold, free, _débonnaire_,
Never knight looked more gallant with shield and with spear,
Never war‐nurtured chieftain less conscious of fear.
In his mien was the heroic flash of the Gaul,
With the fire of the Celt giving grandeur to all;
And he said, head erect, face with ardor aglow,
“I will ride with despatches to Marshal Bugeaud!”