Browning's Shorter Poems Part 5

By Ha.s.selt, 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, 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; 40 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

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

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

HERVe RIEL

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety two, Did the English fight the French,--woe to France!

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter thro' the blue.

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding s.h.i.+p on s.h.i.+p to St. Malo on the Rance, 5 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 s.h.i.+p, Damfreville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good s.h.i.+ps in all; 10 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!"

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; "Why, what hope or chance have s.h.i.+ps like these to pa.s.s?" laughed they: "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the pa.s.sage 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, 20 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 s.h.i.+p 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? 30 Better run the s.h.i.+ps aground!"

(Ended Damfreville his speech).

Not a minute more to wait!

"Let the Captains all and each Shove ash.o.r.e, 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? 40 No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete!

But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet, 43 A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 44

And, "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve Riel: "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? 46 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? 50 Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anch.o.r.ed 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 s.h.i.+p to steer, Get this '_Formidable_' clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a pa.s.sage I know well, 60 Right to Solidor past Greve, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one s.h.i.+p misbehave, --Keel so much as grate the ground.

Why, I've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries Herve 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. 70

Still the north-wind, by G.o.d's grace!

See the n.o.ble fellow's face As the big s.h.i.+p, with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the pa.s.sage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!

See, safe thro' shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock, Not a s.h.i.+p that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, Not a spar that comes to grief!

The peril, see, is past, 80 All are harboured to the last, And just as Herve Kiel hollas "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 staunched with balm.

"Just our rapture to enhance, Let the English rake the bay, Gnash their teeth and glare askance 90 As they cannonade away!

'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"

How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!

Out burst all with one accord, "This is Paradise for h.e.l.l!

Let France, let France's King Thank the man that did the thing!"

What a shout, and all one word, "Herve Riel!"

As he stepped in front once more, 100 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, Tho' I find the speaking hard.

Praise is deeper than the lips: You have saved the King his s.h.i.+ps, You must name your own reward, 'Faith our sun was near eclipse! 110 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?-- 120 Since 'tis ask and have, I may-- Since the others go ash.o.r.e-- 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 fis.h.i.+ng smack, 130 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! 135 You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel.

So, for better and for worse, Herve Riel, accept my verse!

In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honour France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore! 140

PHEIDIPPIDES

[Greek: Chairete, nikomen]

First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock!

G.o.ds of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honour to all!

Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise --Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear! 4 Also, ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer, 5

Now, henceforth, and forever,--O latest to whom I upraise Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock!

Present to help, potent to save, Pan--patron I call! 8 Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return! 9 See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks! 10 Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, "Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid!

Persia has come, we are here, where is She?" Your command I obeyed, 13 Ran and raced: like stubble, some field which a fire runs through, Was the s.p.a.ce between city and city: two days, two nights did I burn Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks.

Into their midst I broke: breath served but for "Persia has come!

Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth; 18 Razed to the ground is Eretria.--but Athens, shall Athens sink, 19 Drop into dust and die--the flower of h.e.l.las utterly die, 20 Die with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by? 21 Answer me quick,--what help, what hand do you stretch o'er destruction's brink?