“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 ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance, deg. deg.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 ship, Damfreville;
    Close on him fled, great and small,
    Twenty-two good ships 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 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, 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 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? 30
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.