Are you

Are you mad, you Malouins? 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.

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 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 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 Danfreville.'

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 '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,-noth ing more.

XI

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,

THE fancy I had to-day,

Fancy which turned a fear! I swam far out in the bay.

Since waves laughed warm and clear.

I lay and looked at the sun,
The noon-sun looked at me:
Between us two, no one

Live creature, that I could see.

Yes! There came floating by
Me, who lay floating too,
Such a strange butterfly!
Creature as dear as new:
Because the membraned wings
So wonderful, so wide,
So sun-suffused, were things
Like soul and naught beside.

A handbreadth overhead!
All of the sea my own,
It owned the sky instead;
Both of us were alone.

I never shall join its flight,
For, naught buoys flesh in air.
If it touch the sea-good night!
Death sure and swift waits there.
Can the insect feel the better
For watching the uncouth play
Of limbs that slip the fetter,
Pretend as they were not clay?

Undoubtedly I rejoice

That the air comports so well With a creature which had the choice Of the land once. Who can tell?

Dreary, weary with the long day's work:

Head of me, heart of me, stupid as a stone:

Tongue-tied now, now blaspheming like a Turk;

When, in a moment, just a knock, call, cry,

Half a pang and all a rapture, there again were we!

"What, and is it really you again?" quoth I:

"I again, what else did you expect?" quoth She.

"Never mind, hie away from this old house

Every crumbling brick embrowned with sin and shame!

Quick, in its corners ere certain shapes arouse!

Let them--every devil of the nightlay claim,

Make and mend, or rap and rend, for me! Good-by!

God be their guard from disturbance at their glee,

Till, crash, comes down the carcass in a heap!" quoth I: "Nay, but there's

a decency required!" quoth She.

"Ah, but if you knew how time has dragged, days, nights!

All the neighbor-talk with man and maid-such men!

All the fuss and trouble of street-sounds, window-sights:

All the worry of flapping door and echoing roof; and then,

SHALL I Sonnet-sing you about myself? Do I live in a house you would like to see?

Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf? "Unlock my heart with a sonnetkey?"

Invite the world, as my betters have done?

"Take notice: this building remains on view,

Its suites of reception every one,

Its private apartment and bedroom too;

"For a ticket, apply to the Publisher." No: thanking the public, I must decline.

A peep through my window, if folk prefer;

But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine!

NATURAL MAGIC

ALL I can say is-I saw it!

The room was as bare as your hand.
I locked in the swarth little lady,-I

swear,

From the head to the foot of her-well, quite as bare!

"No Ñautch shall cheat me," said I, taking my stand

At this bolt which I draw!" And this bolt-I withdraw it,

And there laughs the lady, not bare, but embowered

With-who knows what verdure, o'erfruited, o'erflowered?

Impossible! Only-I saw it!

All I can sing is-I feel it!

This life was as blank as that room;

I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed?

Walls, ceiling and floor,-not a chance for a weed!

Wide opens the entrance: where 's cold now, where 's gloom?

No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it,

Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing,

These fruits of your bearing-nay, birds of your winging!

A fairy-tale! Only-I feel it! 1876.