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.

VII

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 seas 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 harboured to the last,

And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor"-sure as fate,

Up the English come-too late!

VIII

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.

"

IX

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.'

X

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 'tis 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.

XI

Name and deed alike are lost:

Not a pillar or 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 and for worse,

Hervé Riel, accept my verse!

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

ROBERT BROWNING.

THE LOSS OF THE BIRKENHEAD (Supposed to be told by a soldier who was saved).

A fine record of that act of heroism, when, without the excitement, or the hope, of battle, with their ship sinking slowly in a calm sea, Englishmen gave the boats to the women and children, and drew up in line, to die.

RIGHT on our flank the crimson sun went down ; The deep sea rolled around in dark repose; When, like the wild shriek from some captured town,

A cry of women rose.

The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast,
Caught without hope upon a hidden rock;

Her timbers filled as nerves, when through them passed

The spirit of that shock.

And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks. In danger's hour, before the rush of steel,

Drifted away disorderly the planks

From underneath her keel.

So calm the air, so calm and still the flood,
That low down in its blue translucent glass
We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood,
Pass slowly, then repass.

They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey!
The sea turned one clear smile! Like things asleep
Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay,
As quiet as the deep.

Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,

Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck Formed us in line to die.

To die!-'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glowed
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers:
All to the boats! cried one: he was, thank God,
No officer of ours!

Our English hearts beat true: we would not stir:
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not:
On land, on sea, we had our Colours, sir,
To keep without a spot.

They shall not say in England, that we fought
With shameful strength, unhonoured life to seek;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
By trampling down the weak.

So we made women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again;
Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
Still under steadfast men.