And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

25

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, —ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and

anon

His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

30

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, 'Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix' for one heard the quick

wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering

knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

35

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like
chaff;

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And 'Gallop,' gasped Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!

40

'How they'll greet us!' and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 44

And there was my Roland, to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her

fate,

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast my loose buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 50 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without

peer;

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

55

And all I remember is, friends flocking round
As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news
from Ghent.

60

HERVÉ RIEL°

ROBERT BROWNING

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninetytwo,

Did the English fight the French, woe to France!

673531

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks

pursue,

Came crowding ship on ship to Saint-Malo on the Rance,

With the English fleet in view.

5

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase,

First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship,

Damfreville;

Close on him fled, great and small,

Twenty-two good ships in all;

And they signalled to the place

'Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick or, quicker still,

Here's the English can and will!

ΤΟ

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt

on board;

15

'Why, what hope or chance have ships like these

to pass?' laughed they :

'Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,

Shall the Formidable here, with her twelve and

eighty guns,

Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow

way,

Trust to enter

twenty tons,

where 'tis ticklish for a craft of

And with flow at full beside?

Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay!'

Then was called a council straight.

Brief and bitter the debate:

20

25

'Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow

All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,

For a prize to Plymouth Sound? Better run the ships aground!'

(Ended Damfreville his speech).

'Not a minute more to wait!

Let the captains all and each

30

Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on

the beach!

France must undergo her fate.

'Give the word!' But no such word

Was ever spoke or heard;

35

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid

all these

A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate-first,

second, third?

No such man of mark, and meet
With his betters to compete !

40

But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet,

A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese."

And 'What mockery or malice have we here?' cries Hervé Riel:

'Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards,

fools, or rogues?

45

Talk to me of rocks and shoals? me who took the

soundings, tell

On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell

'Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river

disembogues?

Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for?

Morn and eve, night and day,

Have I piloted your bay,

50

Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.

Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse

than fifty Hogues!

Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe

me there's a way!

Only let me lead the line,

Have the biggest ship to steer,

Get this Formidable clear,

Make the others follow mine,

55