"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,

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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,

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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,

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

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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,

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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,

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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 hollas "Anchor!"

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 coun

tenance!

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.

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110

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,

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174

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!

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Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle

Aurore!"

That he asked and that he got,

ΧΙ

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,

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

All that France saved from the fight whence Eng

land 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 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, honor France, love thy wife the

Belle Aurore!

140

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI

THE WHITE SHIP

HENRY I° OF ENGLAND 25th Nov., 1120

By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
(Lands are swayed by a king on a throne.)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
(The sea hath no king but God alone.)

King Henry held it as life's whole gain
That after his death his son should reign.

'Twas so in my youth I heard men say,
And my old age calls it back to-day.

King Henry of England's realm was he,
And Henry Duke of Normandy.

The times had changed when on either coast
'Clerkly Harry" was all his boast.°

Of ruthless strokes full many an one

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10

15

He had struck to crown himself and his son;
And his elder brother's eyes were gone.°

And when to the chase his court would crowd,
The poor flung ploughshares on his road,
And shrieked: Our cry is from King to God!"

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