Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved-work,
When they ate and drank and saw God also !—

XVIII.

What were seen? None knows, none ever shall know.
Only this is sure—the sight were other;

Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence,
Dying now impoverished here in London.

God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures
Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with,
One to show a woman when he loves her.

XIX.

This I say of me, but think of you, Love!

This to you yourself my mocn of poets!

Ah, but that's the world's side—there's the wonder—
Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you.
There, in turn, I stand with them and praise you,

Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it.
But the best is when I glide from out them,
Cross a step or two of dubious twilight,
Come out on the other side, the novel
Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of,
Where I hush and bless myself with silence.

XX.

O, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas,

O, their Dante of the dread Inferno,
Wrote one song-and in my brain I sing it ;
Drew one angel-borne, see, on my bosom !

ROBERT BROWNING.

ΟΝ

Hervé Riel.

the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninetytwo,

Did the English fight the French-woe to France!

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pur

sue,

Came crowding ship on ship to St. 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 '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 :

"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

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 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,

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 Grève,

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 hollers "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 Grève : 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! Out, burst 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: