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.

'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 signaled 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!”

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board. "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 where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, And with flow at full beside?

Now 't is 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:

"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.)

"C Not a minute more to wait! Let the captains all and each

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;

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!

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?

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 Greve, 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,

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.

And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well,

Right to Solidor, past Greve,

And there lay them safe and sound;

And if one ship misbehave,

Keel so much as grate the ground,

Why, I've nothing but my life; here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.

Not a minute more to wait.

"Steer us in, then, small and great!

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. Captains, give the sailor place!

He is Admiral, in brief.

Still the north-wind, by God's grace.

See the noble fellow's face

As the big ship, with a bound,

Clears the entry like a hound,

Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!

See, safe through shoal and rock,

How they follow in a flock.

Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground.

Not a spar that comes to grief!

The peril, see, is past,

All are harbored to the last;

And just as Hervé Riel halloos "Anchor!"

sure as fate,

Up the English come, too late.

So the storm subsides to calm;

They see the green trees wave

On the heights o'erlooking Greve; Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. "Just our rapture to enhance,

Let the English rake the bay,

Gnash their teeth and glare askance

As they cannonade away!

'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" How hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! Outbursts all with one accord,

"This is Paradise for Hell!

Let France, let France's King

Thank the man that did the thing!" What a shout and all one word,

"Hervé Riel!"

As he stepped in front once more,
Not a symptom of surprise

In the frank blue Breton eyes,
Just the same man as before.

Then said Damfreville, "My friend,
I must speak out at the end,

Though I find the speaking hard:
Praise is deeper than the lips;
You have saved the king his ships,

You must name your own reward,

Faith, our sun was near eclipse!

Demand whate'er you will,

France remains your debtor still.

Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville."

Then a beam of fun outbroke

On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As the honest heart laughed through
Those frank eyes of Breton blue;
"" Since I needs must say my say,

Since on board the duty 's done,

And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?

Since 't is ask and have I may,—

Since the others go ashore,

Come! A good whole holiday!

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" That he asked, and that he got,- nothing more.

Name and deed alike are lost;

Not a pillar nor a post

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;

Not a head in white and black

On a single fishing-smack.

In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack

All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the

bell.

Go to Paris; rank on rank

Search the heroes flung pell-mell

On the Louvre, face and flank;

You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.

So, for better or for worse,

Hervé Riel, accept my verse!

In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more

Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore.

-Robert Browning.

WARREN'S ADDRESS

Stand! the ground 's your own, my braves!

Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?

Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?

Hear it in that battle-peal!

Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it, ye who will.

GHENT TO AIX

sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;

'Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew,

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through.

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.