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diff --git a/42850-0.txt b/42850-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a33c67 --- /dev/null +++ b/42850-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2332 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42850 *** + +[Illustration] + + + If this is borrowed by a friend + Right welcome shall he be + To read, to study, _not_ to _lend_ + But to return to me. + Not that imparted knowledge doth + Diminish learning's store + But books I find if often lent + Return to me no more. + + + + +Every Boy's Library + +For Little Boys + +NEW EDITION, 1910 + + +=1 The Man Without a Country= By Rev. E. E. Hale + +=2 The Bicycle Highwaymen= By Frank M. Bicknell + +=3 The Railroad Cut= By W. O. Stoddard + +=4 J. Cole= By Emma Gellibrand + +=5 Laddie= By Evelyn Whitaker + +=6 Miss Toosey= By Evelyn Whitaker + +=7 Elder Leland's Ghost= By Hezekiah Butterworth + +=9 Wonder Book Stories= By Nathaniel Hawthorne + +=10 The Prince of the Pin Elves= By Charles Lee Sleight + +=11 The Little Lame Prince= By Miss Mulock + +=12 One Thousand Men for a Christmas Present= By Mary B. Sheldon + +=13 The Little Earl= By Ouida + +=14 The Double Prince= By Frank M. Bicknell + +=15 The Young Archer= By Charles E. Brimblecom + +=16 Little Peterkin Vandike= By Charles Stuart Pratt + +=17 Christmas Carol= By Charles Dickens + +=18 A Great Emergency= By Juliana Horatia Ewing + +=19 The Rose and the Ring= By William M. Thackeray + +=20 Lazy Lawrence and other Stories= By Maria Edgeworth + +=21 Forgive and Forget and Other Stories= By Maria Edgeworth + +=22 The False Key and other Stories= By Maria Edgeworth + +=23 A Boy's Battle= By Will Allen Dromgoole + +=24 The Gold Bug= By Edgar Allan Poe + +=25 The Pineboro Quartette= By Willis Boyd Allen + +=26 His Majesty the King and Wee Willie Winkie= By Rudyard Kipling + +=27 The Old Monday Farm= By Louise R. Baker + +=28 Daddy Darwin's Dovecote= By Juliana H. Ewing + +=29 Little Dick's Christmas= By Etheldred B. Barry + +=30 What Paul Did= By Etheldred B. Barry + +=31 Harum Scarum Joe= By Will Allen Dromgoole + +=32 The Drums of the Fore and Aft= By Rudyard Kipling + +=33 The Child of Urbino and Moufflou= By Ouida + +=34 Hero-Chums= By Will Allen Dromgoole + +=35 Little Tong's Mission= By Etheldred B. Barry + + + H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY + Publishers + NEW YORK AND BOSTON + + + + +[Illustration: THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN] + + + + + EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY + + THE PIED + PIPER of + HAMELIN + + and Other Poems + + By + + ROBERT BROWNING + + [Illustration] + + ILLUSTRATED + + H. M. CALDWELL CO. + PUBLISHERS + NEW YORK & BOSTON + + + + + _Copyright, 1899_ + BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + + THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN 11 + + HERVÉ RIEL 24 + + CAVALIER TUNES 31 + + "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX" 34 + + THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABD-EL-KADR 37 + + INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 39 + + CLIVE 41 + + MULÉYKEH 59 + + TRAY 68 + + A TALE 70 + + GOLD HAIR 75 + + DONALD 82 + + THE GLOVE 90 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + PAGE + + THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN _Frontispiece_ + + "'LEAVE TO GO AND SEE MY WIFE, WHOM I CALL THE BELLE AURORE'" 30 + + "I GALLOPED, DIRCK GALLOPED, WE GALLOPED ALL THREE" 34 + + "A RIDER BOUND ON BOUND FULL GALLOPING, NOR BRIDLE DREW UNTIL + HE REACHED THE MOUND" 39 + + "HAIR, SUCH A WONDER OF FLIX AND FLOSS" 75 + + "AND FULL IN THE FACE OF ITS OWNER FLUNG THE GLOVE" 95 + + + + +THE BOYS' BROWNING. + + + + +THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. + +A CHILD'S STORY. + + + I. + + Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, + By famous Hanover city; + The river Weser, deep and wide, + Washes its wall on the southern side; + A pleasanter spot you never spied; + But, when begins my ditty, + Almost five hundred years ago, + To see the townsfolk suffer so + From vermin, was a pity. + + + II. + + Rats! + They fought the dogs and killed the cats, + And bit the babies in the cradles, + And ate the cheeses out of the vats, + And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, + Split open the kegs of salted sprats, + Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, + And even spoiled the women's chats + By drowning their speaking + With shrieking and squeaking + In fifty different sharps and flats. + + + III. + + At last the people in a body + To the Town Hall came flocking: + "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; + And as for our Corporation--shocking + To think we buy gowns lined with ermine + For dolts that can't or won't determine + What's best to rid us of our vermin! + You hope, because you're old and obese, + To find in the furry civic robe ease? + Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking + To find the remedy we're lacking, + Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" + At this the Mayor and Corporation + Quaked with a mighty consternation. + + + IV. + + An hour they sat in council; + At length the Mayor broke silence: + "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, + I wish I were a mile hence! + It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- + I'm sure my poor head aches again, + I've scratched it so, and all in vain. + Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!" + Just as he said this, what should hap + At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? + "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" + (With the Corporation as he sat, + Looking little though wondrous fat; + Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister + Than a too-long-opened oyster, + Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous + For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) + "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? + Anything like the sound of a rat + Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!" + + + V. + + "Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger: + And in did come the strangest figure! + His queer long coat from heel to head + Was half of yellow and half of red, + And he himself was tall and thin, + With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, + And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, + No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, + But lips where smiles went out and in; + There was no guessing his kith and kin: + And nobody could enough admire + The tall man and his quaint attire. + Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, + Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, + Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" + + + VI. + + He advanced to the council-table: + And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able, + By means of a secret charm, to draw + All creatures living beneath the sun, + That creep or swim or fly or run, + After me so as you never saw! + And I chiefly use my charm + On creatures that do people harm, + The mole and toad and newt and viper; + And people call me the Pied Piper." + (And here they noticed round his neck + A scarf of red and yellow stripe, + To match with his coat of the self-same cheque; + And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; + And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying + As if impatient to be playing + Upon this pipe, as low it dangled + Over his vesture so old-fangled.) + "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, + In Tartary I freed the Cham, + Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; + I eased in Asia the Nizam + Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: + And as for what your brain bewilders, + If I can rid your town of rats + Will you give me a thousand guilders?" + "One? fifty thousand!"--was the exclamation + Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. + + + VII. + + Into the street the Piper stept, + Smiling first a little smile, + As if he knew what magic slept + In his quiet pipe the while; + Then, like a musical adept, + To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, + And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, + Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; + And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, + You heard as if an army muttered; + And the muttering grew to a grumbling; + And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; + And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. + Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats + Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats + Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, + Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, + Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, + Families by tens and dozens, + Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- + Followed the Piper for their lives. + From street to street he piped advancing, + And step for step they followed dancing, + Until they came to the river Weser, + Wherein all plunged and perished! + --Save one who, stout as Julius Cæsar, + Swam across and lived to carry + (As he, the manuscript he cherished) + To Rat-land home his commentary: + Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, + I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, + And putting apples, wondrous ripe, + Into a cider-press's gripe: + And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, + And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, + And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, + And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: + And it seemed as if a voice + (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery + Is breathed) called out, 'Oh, rats, rejoice! + The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! + So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, + Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' + And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, + All ready staved, like a great sun shone + Glorious scarce an inch before me, + Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' + --I found the Weser rolling o'er me." + + + VIII. + + You should have heard the Hamelin people + Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. + "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles, + Poke out the nests and block up the holes! + Consult with carpenters and builders, + And leave in our town not even a trace + Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face + Of the Piper perked in the market-place, + With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!" + + + IX. + + A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; + So did the Corporation, too. + For council dinners made rare havoc + With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; + And half the money would replenish + Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. + To pay this sum to a wandering fellow + With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! + "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, + "Our business was done at the river's brink; + We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, + And what's dead can't come to life, I think. + So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink + From the duty of giving you something for drink, + And a matter of money to put in your poke; + But as for the guilders, what we spoke + Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. + Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. + A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!" + + + X. + + The Piper's face fell, and he cried, + "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! + I've promised to visit by dinner-time + Bagdat, and accept the prime + Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, + For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, + Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: + With him I proved no bargain-driver, + With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! + And folks who put me in a passion + May find me pipe after another fashion." + + + XI. + + "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook + Being worse treated than a Cook? + Insulted by a lazy ribald + With idle pipe and vesture piebald? + You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, + Blow your pipe there till you burst!" + + + XII. + + Once more he stept into the street, + And to his lips again + Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; + And ere he blew three notes (such sweet + Soft notes as yet musician's cunning + Never gave the enraptured air) + There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling + Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; + Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, + Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, + And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering, + Out came the children running. + All the little boys and girls, + With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, + And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, + Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after + The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. + + + XIII. + + The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood + As if they were changed into blocks of wood, + Unable to move a step, or cry + To the children merrily skipping by, + --Could only follow with the eye + That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. + But how the Mayor was on the rack, + And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, + As the Piper turned from the High Street + To where the Weser rolled its waters + Right in the way of their sons and daughters! + However, he turned from South to West, + And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, + And after him the children pressed; + Great was the joy in every breast. + "He never can cross that mighty top! + He's forced to let the piping drop, + And we shall see our children stop!" + When, lo, as they reached the mountainside, + A wondrous portal opened wide, + As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; + And the Piper advanced and the children followed, + And when all were in to the very last, + The door in the mountainside shut fast. + Did I say, all? No! One was lame, + And could not dance the whole of the way; + And in after years, if you would blame + His sadness, he was used to say,-- + "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! + I can't forget that I'm bereft + Of all the pleasant sights they see, + Which the Piper also promised me. + For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, + Joining the town and just at hand, + Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew + And flowers put forth a fairer hue, + And everything was strange and new; + The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, + And their dogs outran our fallow deer, + And honey-bees had lost their stings, + And horses were born with eagles' wings: + And just as I became assured + My lame foot would be speedily cured, + The music stopped and I stood still, + And found myself outside the hill, + Left alone against my will, + To go now limping as before, + And never hear of that country more!" + + + XIV. + + Alas, alas for Hamelin! + There came into many a burgher's pate + A text which says that heaven's gate + Opes to the rich at as easy rate + As the needle's eye takes a camel in! + The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, + To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, + Wherever it was men's lot to find him, + Silver and gold to his heart's content, + If he'd only return the way he went, + And bring the children behind him. + But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, + And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, + They made a decree that lawyers never + Should think their records dated duly + If, after the day of the month and year, + These words did not as well appear, + "And so long after what happened here + On the Twenty-second of July, + Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" + And the better in memory to fix + The place of the children's last retreat, + They called it, the Pied Piper's Street-- + Where any one playing on pipe or tabour + Was sure for the future to lose his labour. + Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern + To shock with mirth a street so solemn; + But opposite the place of the cavern + They wrote the story on a column, + And on the great church-window painted + The same, to make the world acquainted + How their children were stolen away, + And there it stands to this very day. + And I must not omit to say + That in Transylvania there's a tribe + Of alien people who ascribe + The outlandish ways and dress + On which their neighbours lay such stress, + To their fathers and mothers having risen + Out of some subterraneous prison + Into which they were trepanned + Long time ago in a mighty band + Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, + But how or why, they don't understand. + + + XV. + + So, Willy, let me and you be wipers + Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! + And, whether they pipe us free fróm rats or fróm mice, + If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise! + + + + +HERVÉ RIEL. + + + I. + + 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 through the blue, + Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, + Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, + With the English fleet in view. + + + II. + + '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 signalled to the place + "Help the winners of a race! + Get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick--or, quicker still, + Here's the English can and will!" + + + III. + + 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, + 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!" + + + IV. + + 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. + + + V. + + "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. + + + VI. + + 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. + + + 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 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 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, + 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! + +[Illustration: "'LEAVE TO GO AND SEE MY WIFE, WHOM I CALL THE BELLE +AURORE.'"] + + + + +CAVALIER TUNES. + + +I. MARCHING ALONG. + + Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, + Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing: + And, pressing a troop unable to stoop + And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, + Marched them along, fifty-score strong, + Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. + + God for King Charles! Pym and such carles + To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles! + Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup, + Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup + Till you're-- + + CHORUS.--Marching along, fifty-score strong, + Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. + + Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell. + Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well! + England, good cheer! Rupert is near! + Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here, + + CHO.--Marching along, fifty-score strong, + Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song? + + Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls + To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles! + Hold by the right, you double your might; + So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, + + CHO.--March we along, fifty-score strong, + Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song! + + +II. GIVE A ROUSE. + + King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + Who gave me the goods that went since? + Who raised me the house that sank once? + Who helped me to gold I spent since? + Who found me in wine you drank once? + + CHO.--King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + To whom used my boy George quaff else, + By the old fool's side that begot him? + For whom did he cheer and laugh else, + While Noll's damned troopers shot him? + + CHO.--King Charles, and who'll do him right now? + King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? + Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, + King Charles! + + +III. BOOT AND SADDLE. + + Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! + Rescue my castle before the hot day + Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. + + CHO.--"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; + Many's the friend there, will listen and pray + "God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay-- + + CHO.--"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, + Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: + Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, + + CHO.--"Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" + + Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, + Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! + I've better counsellors; what counsel they? + + CHO.--"Boot, saddle, to horse and away!" + +[Illustration: "I GALLOPED, DIRCK GALLOPED, WE GALLOPED ALL THREE."] + + + + +"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX." + + + I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; + I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; + "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; + "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; + Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, + And into the midnight we galloped abreast. + + Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace + Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; + I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, + Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, + Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, + Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. + + 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near + Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear: + At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; + At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; + And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime, + So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!" + + At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, + And against him the cattle stood black every one, + To stare through the mist at us galloping past, + And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, + With resolute shoulders, each butting away + The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: + + And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back + For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; + And one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance + O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! + And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon + His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. + + By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! + Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, + We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze + Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, + And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, + As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. + So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, + Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; + The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, + 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; + Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, + And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" + + "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 hear 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 buffcoat, each holster let fall, + Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, + 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. + + + + +THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABD-EL-KADR. + + + As I ride, as I ride, + With a full heart for my guide, + So its tide rocks my side, + As I ride, as I ride, + That, as I were double-eyed, + He, in whom our Tribes confide, + Is descried, ways untried, + As I ride, as I ride. + + As I ride, as I ride + To our Chief and his Allied, + Who dares chide my heart's pride + As I ride, as I ride? + Or are witnesses denied-- + Through the desert waste and wide + Do I glide unespied + As I ride, as I ride? + + As I ride, as I ride, + When an inner voice has cried, + The sands slide, nor abide + (As I ride, as I ride) + O'er each visioned homicide + That came vaunting (has he lied?) + To reside--where he died, + As I ride, as I ride. + + As I ride, as I ride, + Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied, + Yet his hide, streaked and pied, + As I ride, as I ride, + Shows where sweat has sprung and dried, + --Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed-- + How has vied stride with stride + As I ride, as I ride! + + As I ride, as I ride, + Could I loose what Fate has tied, + Ere I pried, she should hide + (As I ride, as I ride) + All that's meant me--satisfied + When the Prophet and the Bride + Stop veins I'd have subside + As I ride, as I ride! + +[Illustration: "A RIDER BOUND ON BOUND FULL GALLOPING, NOR BRIDLE DREW +UNTIL HE REACHED THE MOUND."] + + + + +INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. + + + You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: + A mile or so away, + On a little mound, Napoleon + Stood on our storming-day; + With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, + Legs wide, arms locked behind, + As if to balance the prone brow, + Oppressive with its mind. + + Just as perhaps he mused "My plans + That soar, to earth may fall, + Let once my army-leader, Lannes, + Waver at yonder wall,--" + Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew + A rider, bound on bound + Full-galloping; nor bridle drew + Until he reached the mound. + + Then off there flung in smiling joy, + And held himself erect + By just his horse's mane, a boy: + You hardly could suspect-- + (So tight he kept his lips compressed, + Scarce any blood came through) + You looked twice ere you saw his breast + Was all but shot in two. + + "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace + We've got you Ratisbon! + The Marshal's in the market-place, + And you'll be there anon + To see your flag-bird flap his vans + Where I, to heart's desire, + Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans + Soared up again like fire. + + The chief's eye flashed; but presently + Softened itself, as sheathes + A film the mother-eagle's eye + When her bruised eaglet breathes; + "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride + Touched to the quick, he said: + "I'm killed, Sire!" and his chief beside, + Smiling the boy fell dead. + + + + +CLIVE. + + + I and Clive were friends--and why not? Friends! I think you laugh, + my lad. + Clive it was gave England India, while your father gives--egad, + England nothing but the graceless boy who lures him on to speak-- + "Well, Sir, you and Clive were comrades--" with a tongue thrust in + your cheek! + Very true: in my eyes, your eyes, all the world's eyes, Clive was man, + I was, am, and ever shall be--mouse, nay, mouse of all its clan + Sorriest sample, if you take the kitchen's estimate for fame; + While the man Clive--he fought Plassy, spoiled the clever foreign + game, + Conquered and annexed and Englished! + + Never mind! As o'er my punch + (You away) I sit of evenings,--silence, save for biscuit crunch, + Black, unbroken,--thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old + years, + Notes this forthright, that meander, till the long past life appears + Like an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and rood, + Once, and well remembered still,--I'm startled in my solitude + Ever and anon by--what's the sudden mocking light that breaks + On me as I slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakes + While I ask--aloud, I do believe, God help me!--"Was it thus? + Can it be that so I faltered, stopped when just one step for us--" + (Us,--you were not born, I grant, but surely some day born would be) + "--One bold step had gained a province" (figurative talk, you see) + "Got no end of wealth and honour,--yet I stood stock-still no less?" + --"For I was not Clive," you comment: but it needs no Clive to guess + Wealth were handy, honour ticklish, did no writing on the wall + Warn me "Trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" Him who braves that + notice--call + Hero! None of such heroics suit myself who read plain words, + Doff my hat, and leap no barrier. Scripture says, the land's the + Lord's: + Louts then--what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring, + All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive their king? + Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot before + T'other in that dark direction, though I stand for evermore + Poor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No! By and by + Job grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less wise than I. + Don't object "Why call him friend, then?" Power is power, my boy, + and still + Marks a man,--God's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill. + You've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin; + Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in! + True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass; + Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage--ah, the brute he was! + Why, that Clive,--that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving + clerk, in fine,-- + He sustained a siege in Arcot ... But the world knows! Pass the wine. + + Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned + "fear!" + Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear. + + We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the orb + Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely threaten to absorb + Ray by ray its noontide brilliance,--friendship might, with + steadier eye + Drawing near, hear what had burned else, now no blaze--all majesty. + Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle's new: + None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe + 'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious + pile + As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile. + Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From without + Scrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates about + Towers--the heap he kicks now! Turrets--just the measure of his cane! + Will that do? Observe moreover--(same similitude again)-- + Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade: + 'Tis when foes are foiled, and fighting's finished that vile rains + invade, + Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holes + Fit to build like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles. + So Clive crumbled slow in London, crashed at last. + + A week before, + Dining with him,--after trying churchyard chat of days of yore,-- + Both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, head-piece, foot-piece, + when they lean + Each to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined Past between. + As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishment + By the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers went + Where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor,--"One more throw + Try for Clive!" thought I: "Let's venture some good rattling + question!" So-- + "Come Clive, tell us"--out I blurted--"what to tell in turn, + years hence, + When my boy--suppose I have one--asks me on what evidence + I maintain my friend of Plassy proved a warrior every whit + Worth your Alexanders, Cæsars, Marlboroughs, and--what said Pitt?-- + Frederick the Fierce himself! Clive told me once"--I want to say-- + "Which feat out of all those famous doings bore the bell away + --In his own calm estimation, mark you, not the mob's rough guess-- + Which stood foremost as evincing what Clive called courageousness! + Come! What moment of the minute, what speck-centre in the wide + Circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified? + (Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff, swallow bold this wholesome Port!) + If a friend has leave to question,--when were you most brave, + in short?" + + Up he arched his brows o' the instant--formidably Clive again. + "When was I most brave? I'd answer, were the instance half as plain + As another instance that's a brain-lodged crystal--curse it!--here + Freezing when my memory touches--ugh!--the time I felt most fear. + Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear--anyhow, + Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver now." + + "Fear!" smiled I. "Well, that's the rarer: that's a specimen to seek, + Ticket up in one's museum, _Mind-Freaks_, _Lord Clive's Fear_, + _Unique_!" + + Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he pored as though + Tracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long ago. + When he spoke 'twas like a lawyer reading word by word some will, + Some blind jungle of a statement,--beating on and on until + Out there leaps fierce life to fight with. + + "This fell in my factor-days. + Desk-drudge, slaving at Saint David's, one must game, or drink, or + craze. + I chose gaming: and,--because your high-flown gamesters hardly take + Umbrage at a factor's elbow, if the factor pays his stake,-- + I was winked at in a circle where the company was choice, + Captain This and Major That, men high of colour, loud of voice, + Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile + Who not merely risked, but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile. + + "Down I sat to cards, one evening,--had for my antagonist + Homebody whose name's a secret--you'll know why--so, if you list, + Call him Cock o' the Walk, my scarlet son of Mars from head to heel! + Play commenced: and, whether Cocky fancied that a clerk must feel + Quite sufficient honour came of bending over one green baize, + I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman dared to raise + Shadow of objection should the honour stay but playing end + More or less abruptly,--whether disinclined he grew to spend + Practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare + At--not ask of--lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair,-- + Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me 'Cut!' + + "I rose. + 'Such the new manoeuvre, Captain? I'm a novice: knowledge grows. + What, you force a card, you cheat, Sir?' + + "Never did a thunder-clap + Cause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his lap, + As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join the pack) + Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned black. + + "When he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!' + + "'Well, you forced a card and cheated!' + + "'Possibly a factor's brain, + Busied with his all important balance of accounts, may deem + Weighing words superfluous trouble: cheat to clerkly ears may seem + Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see! + When a gentleman is joked with,--if he's good at repartee, + He rejoins, as do I--Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full! + Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skull + Lets in light and teaches manner to what brain it finds! + Choose quick-- + Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon + candle-wick!' + + "'Well, you cheated!' + + "Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around. + To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth + were ground. + 'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace! + No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space! + Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen, + Fly the sword! This clerk's no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol, + then! + Even odds! A dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expert + Make a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he's alert, + Likelier hits the broader target!' + + "Up we stood accordingly. + As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to try + Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp out + Every spark of his existence, that,--crept close to, curled about + By that toying, tempting, teasing, fool-forefinger's middle joint,-- + Don't you guess?--the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at + the point + Of such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his head + Went my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead. + + "Up he marched in flaming triumph--'twas his right, mind!--up, within + Just an arm's length. 'Now, my clerkling,' chuckled Cocky, with a grin + As the levelled piece quite touched me, 'Now, Sir Counting-House, + repeat + That expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?' + + "'Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as well. + As for me, my homely breeding bids you--fire and go to Hell!' + + "Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist. + Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, 'Laugh at Hell who list, + I can't! God's no fable either. Did this boy's eye wink once? No! + There's no standing him and Hell and God all three against me,--so, + I did cheat!' + + "And down he threw the pistol, out rushed--by the door + Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor, + He effected disappearance--I'll engage no glance was sent + That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment + Swallowed up their senses: as for speaking--mute they stood as mice. + + "Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice! + 'Rogue and rascal! Who'd have thought it? What's to be expected next, + When His Majesty's Commission serves a sharper as pretext + For ... But where's the need of wasting time now? Naught requires + delay: + Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped away + Publicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed! + Drum and fife must play the Rogue's-March, rank and file be free + to speed + Tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear + --Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian,--never fear, + Mister Clive, for--though a clerk--you bore yourself--suppose + we say-- + Just as would beseem a soldier? + + "'Gentlemen, attention--pray! + First, one word!' + + "I passed each speaker severally in review. + When I had precise their number, names, and styles, and fully knew + Over whom my supervision thenceforth must extend,--why, then-- + + "Some five minutes since, my life lay--as you all saw, gentlemen-- + At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raised + In arrest of judgment, not one tongue--before my powder blazed-- + Ventured "Can it be the youngster plundered, really seemed to mark + Some irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark, + Guess at random,--still, for sake of fair play--what if for a freak, + In a fit of absence,--such things have been!--if our friend + proved weak + --What's the phrase?--corrected fortune! Look into the case, + at least!" + Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest? + Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each, + To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech + --To his face, behind his back,--that speaker has to do with me: + Me who promise, if positions change, and mine the chance should be, + Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!' + + "Twenty-five + Years ago this matter happened: and 'tis certain," added Clive, + "Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breath + Breathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since + his death, + For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you. + All I know is--Cocky had one chance more; how he used it,--grew + Out of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back again + Brought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train,-- + That's for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate. + Ugh--the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why prate + Longer? You've my story, there's your instance: fear I did, you see!" + + "Well"--I hardly kept from laughing--"if I see it, thanks must be + Wholly to your Lordship's candour. Not that--in a common case-- + When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face, + I should under-rate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve! + 'Tis no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve. + Fear I naturally look for--unless, of all men alive, + I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive. + Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death--the whole world + knows-- + Came to somewhat closer quarters." + + Quarters? Had we come to blows, + Clive and I, you had not wondered--up he sprang so, out he rapped + Such a round of oaths--no matter! I'll endeavour to adapt + To our modern usage words he--well, 'twas friendly license--flung + At me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue. + + "You--a soldier? You--at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nick + Instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick, + --At his mercy, at his malice,--has you, through some stupid inch + Undefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open,--not to flinch + --That needs courage, you'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose + the man, + Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span + Distant from my temple,--curse him!--quietly had bade me, 'There! + Keep your life, calumniator!--worthless life I freely spare: + Mine you freely would have taken--murdered me and my good fame + Both at once--and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aim + Which permits me to forgive you!' What if, with such words as these, + He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please? + Nay, I'll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this, + remained-- + Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. If so had gained + Sleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on still + Rent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman's will." + + "Such the turn," said I, "the matter takes with you? Then I abate + --No, by not one jot nor tittle,--of your act my estimate. + Fear--I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough-- + Call it desperation, madness--never mind! for here's in rough + Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace. + True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God's face + --None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times, + Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climes + Rub some marks away--not all, though! We poor sinners reach + life's brink, + Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but think + There's advantage in what's left us--ground to stand on, time to call + 'Lord, have mercy!' ere we topple over--do not leap, that's all!" + + Oh, he made no answer, re-absorbed into his cloud. I caught + Something like "Yes--courage; only fools will call it fear." + + If aught + Comfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard, + Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word + "Fearfully courageous!"--this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned. + I'm no Clive, nor parson either: Clive's worst deed--we'll hope + condoned. + + + + +MULÉYKEH. + + + If a stranger passed the tent of Hóseyn, he cried "A churl's!" + Or haply "God help the man who has neither salt nor bread!" + --"Nay," would a friend exclaim, "he needs nor pity nor scorn + More than who spends small thought on the shore-sand, picking pearls, + --Holds but in light esteem the seed-sort, bears instead + On his breast a moon-like prize, some orb which of night makes morn. + + "What if no flocks and herds enrich the son of Sinán? + They went when his tribe was mulct, ten thousand camels the due, + Blood-value paid perforce for a murder done of old. + 'God gave them, let them go! But never since time began, + Muléykeh, peerless mare, owned master the match of you, + And you are my prize, my Pearl: I laugh at men's land and gold!' + + "So in the pride of his soul laughs Hóseyn--and right, I say. + Do the ten steeds run a race of glory? Outstripping all, + Ever Muléykeh stands first steed at the victor's staff. + Who started, the owner's hope, gets shamed and named, that day. + 'Silence,' or, last but one, is 'The Cuffed,' as we used to call + Whom the paddock's lord thrusts forth. Right, Hóseyn, I say, + to laugh!" + + "Boasts he Muléykeh the Pearl?" the stranger replies: "Be sure + On him I waste nor scorn nor pity, but lavish both + On Duhl the son of Sheybán, who withers away in heart + For envy of Hóseyn's luck. Such sickness admits no cure. + A certain poet has sung, and sealed the same with an oath, + 'For the vulgar--flocks and herds! The Pearl is a prize apart.'" + + Lo, Duhl the son of Sheybán comes riding to Hóseyn's tent, + And he casts his saddle down, and enters and "Peace!" bids he. + "You are poor, I know the cause: my plenty shall mend the wrong. + 'Tis said of your Pearl--the price of a hundred camels spent + In her purchase were scarce ill paid: such prudence is far from me + Who proffer a thousand. Speak! Long parley may last too long." + + Said Hóseyn, "You feed young beasts a many, of famous breed, + Slit-eared, unblemished, fat, true offspring of Múzennem: + There stumbles no weak-eyed she in the line as it climbs the hill. + But I love Muléykeh's face: her forefront whitens indeed + Like a yellowish wave's cream-crest. Your camels--go gaze on them! + Her fetlock is foam-splashed too. Myself am the richer still." + + A year goes by: lo, back to the tent again rides Duhl. + "You are open-hearted, ay--moist-handed, a very prince. + Why should I speak of sale? Be the mare your simple gift! + My son is pined to death for her beauty: my wife prompts 'Fool, + Beg for his sake the Pearl! Be God the rewarder, since + God pays debts seven for one: who squanders on Him shows thrift.'" + + Said Hóseyn, "God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives + That lamp due measure of oil: lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide + Its comfort for others to share! once quench it, what help is left? + The oil of your lamp is your son: I shine while Muléykeh lives. + Would I beg your son to cheer my dark if Muléykeh died? + It is life against life: what good avails to the life-bereft?" + + Another year, and--hist! What craft is it Duhl designs? + He alights not at the door of the tent as he did last time, + But, creeping behind, he gropes his stealthy way by the trench + Half-round till he finds the flap in the folding, for night combines + With the robber--and such is he: Duhl, covetous up to crime, + Must wring from Hóseyn's grasp the Pearl, by whatever the wrench. + + "He was hunger-bitten, I heard: I tempted with half my store, + And a gibe was all my thanks. Is he generous like Spring dew? + Account the fault to me who chaffered with such an one! + He has killed, to feast chance comers, the creature he rode: + nay, more-- + For a couple of singing-girls his robe has he torn in two: + I will beg! Yet I nowise gained by the tale of my wife and son. + + "I swear by the Holy House, my head will I never wash + Till I filch his Pearl away. Fair dealing I tried, then guile, + And now I resort to force. He said we must live or die: + Let him die, then,--let me live! Be bold--but not too rash! + I have found me a peeping-place: breast, bury your breathing while + I explore for myself! Now, breathe! He deceived me not, the spy! + + "As he said--there lies in peace Hóseyn--how happy! Beside + Stands tethered the Pearl: thrice winds her headstall about his wrist: + 'Tis therefore he sleeps so sound--the moon through the roof reveals. + And, loose on his left, stands too that other, known far and wide, + Buhéyseh, her sister born: fleet is she yet ever missed + The winning tail's fire-flash a-stream past the thunderous heels. + + "No less she stands saddled and bridled, this second, in case some + thief + Should enter and seize and fly with the first, as I mean to do. + What then? The Pearl is the Pearl: once mount her we both escape." + Through the skirt-fold in glides Duhl,--so a serpent disturbs no leaf + In a bush as he parts the twigs entwining a nest: clean through, + He is noiselessly at his work: as he planned, he performs the rape. + + He has set the tent-door wide, has buckled the girth, has clipped + The headstall away from the wrist he leaves thrice bound as before, + He springs on the Pearl, is launched on the desert like bolt from bow. + Up starts our plundered man: from his breast though the heart be + ripped, + Yet his mind has the mastery: behold, in a minute more, + He is out and off and away on Buhéyseh, whose worth we know! + + And Hóseyn--his blood turns flame, he has learned long since to ride, + And Buhéyseh does her part,--they gain--they are gaining fast + On the fugitive pair, and Duhl has Ed-Dárraj to cross and quit, + And to reach the ridge El-Sabán,--no safety till that he spied! + And Buhéyseh is, bound by bound, but a horse-length off at last, + For the Pearl has missed the tap of the heel, the touch of the bit. + + She shortens her stride, she chafes at her rider the strange and + queer: + Buhéyseh is mad with hope--beat sister she shall and must, + Though Duhl, of the hand and heel so clumsy, she has to thank. + She is near now, nose by tail--they are neck by croup--joy! fear! + What folly makes Hóseyn shout "Dog Duhl, Damned son of the Dust, + Touch the right ear and press with your foot my Pearl's left flank!" + + And Duhl was wise at the word, and Muléykeh as prompt perceived + Who was urging redoubled pace, and to hear him was to obey, + And a leap indeed gave she, and evanished for evermore. + And Hóseyn looked one long last look as who, all bereaved, + Looks, fain to follow the dead so far as the living may: + Then he turned Buhéyseh's neck slow homeward, weeping sore. + + And, lo, in the sunrise, still sat Hóseyn upon the ground + Weeping: and neighbours came, the tribesmen of Bénu-Asád + In the vale of green Er-Rass, and they questioned him of his grief; + And he told from first to last how, serpent-like, Duhl had wound + His way to the nest, and how Duhl rode like an ape, so bad! + And how Buhéyseh did wonders, yet Pearl remained with the thief. + + And they jeered him, one and all: "Poor Hóseyn is crazed past hope! + How else had he wrought himself his ruin, in fortune's spite? + To have simply held the tongue were a task for boy or girl, + And here were Muléykeh again, the eyed like an antelope, + The child of his heart by day, the wife of his breast by night!"-- + "And the beaten in speed!" wept Hóseyn. "You never have loved + my Pearl." + + + + +TRAY. + + + Sing me a hero! Quench my thirst + Of soul, ye bards! + + Quoth Bard the first: + "Sir Olaf, the good knight, did don + His helm and eke his habergeon"... + Sir Olaf and his bard--! + + "That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second), + "That eye wide ope as though Fate beckoned + My hero to some steep, beneath + Which precipice smiled tempting death"... + You too without your host have reckoned! + + "A beggar-child" (let's hear this third!) + "Sat on a quay's edge: like a bird + Sang to herself at careless play, + And fell into the stream. 'Dismay! + Help, you the standers-by!' None stirred. + + "Bystanders reason, think of wives + And children ere they risk their lives. + Over the balustrade has bounced + A mere instinctive dog, and pounced + Plumb on the prize. 'How well he dives! + + "'Up he comes with the child, see, tight + In mouth, alive too, clutched from quite + A depth of ten feet--twelve, I bet! + Good dog! What, off again? There's yet + Another child to save? All right! + + "'How strange we saw no other fall! + It's instinct in the animal. + Good dog! But he's a long while under: + If he got drowned I should not wonder-- + Strong current, that against the wall! + + "'Here he comes, holds in mouth this time + --What may the thing be? Well, that's prime! + Now, did you ever? Reason reigns + In man alone, since all Tray's pains + Have fished--the child's doll from the slime!' + + "And so, amid the laughter gay, + Trotted my hero off,--old Tray,-- + Till somebody, prerogatived + With reason, reasoned: 'Why he dived, + His brain would show us, I should say. + + "'John, go and catch--or, if needs be, + Purchase--that animal for me! + By vivisection, at expense + Of half-an-hour and eighteenpence, + How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see!'" + + + + +A TALE. + + + What a pretty tale you told me + Once upon a time + --Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) + Was it prose or was it rhyme, + Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, + While your shoulder propped my head. + + Anyhow there's no forgetting + This much if no more, + That a poet (pray, no petting!) + Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, + Went where suchlike used to go, + Singing for a prize, you know. + + Well, he had to sing, nor merely + Sing but play the lyre; + Playing was important clearly + Quite as singing: I desire, + Sir, you keep the fact in mind + For a purpose that's behind. + + There stood he, while deep attention + Held the judges round, + --Judges able, I should mention, + To detect the slightest sound + Sung or played amiss: such ears + Had old judges, it appears! + + None the less he sang out boldly, + Played in time and tune, + Till the judges, weighing coldly + Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon, + Sure to smile "In vain one tries + Picking faults out: take the prize!" + + When, a mischief! Were they seven + Strings the lyre possessed? + Oh, and afterwards eleven, + Thank you! Well, sir,--who had guessed + Such ill luck in store?--it happed + One of those same seven strings snapped. + + All was lost, then! No! a cricket + (What "cicada?" Pooh!) + --Some mad thing that left its thicket + For mere love of music--flew + With its little heart on fire, + Lighted on the crippled lyre. + + So that when (Ah, joy!) our singer + For his truant string + Feels with disconcerted finger, + What does cricket else but fling + Fiery heart forth, sound the note + Wanted by the throbbing throat? + + Ay, and ever to the ending, + Cricket chirps at need, + Executes the hand's intending, + Promptly, perfectly,--indeed + Saves the singer from defeat + With her chirrup low and sweet. + + Till, at ending, all the judges + Cry with one assent + "Take the prize--a prize who grudges + Such a voice and instrument? + Why, we took your lyre for harp, + So it shrilled us forth F sharp!" + + Did the conqueror spurn the creature, + Once its service done? + That's no such uncommon feature + In the case when Music's son + Finds his Lotte's power too spent + For aiding soul-development. + + No! This other, on returning + Homeward, prize in hand, + Satisfied his bosom's yearning: + (Sir, I hope you understand!) + --Said "Some record there must be + Of this cricket's help to me!" + + So, he made himself a statue: + Marble stood, life-size; + On the lyre, he pointed at you, + Perched his partner in the prize; + Never more apart you found + Her, he throned, from him, she crowned. + + That's the tale: its application? + Somebody I know + Hopes one day for reputation + Through his poetry that's--Oh, + All so learned and so wise + And deserving of a prize! + + If he gains one, will some ticket, + When his statue's built, + Tell the gazer "'Twas a cricket + Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt + Sweet and low, when strength usurped + Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? + + "For as victory was nighest, + While I sang and played,-- + With my lyre at lowest, highest, + Right alike,--one string that made + 'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain, + Never to be heard again,-- + + "Had not a kind cricket fluttered, + Perched upon the place + Vacant left, and duly uttered + 'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass + Asked the treble to atone + For its somewhat sombre drone." + + But you don't know music! Wherefore + Keep on casting pearls + To a--poet? All I care for + Is--to tell him that a girl's + "Love" comes aptly in when gruff + Grows his singing. (There, enough!) + +[Illustration: "HAIR, SUCH A WONDER OF FLIX AND FLOSS."] + + + + +GOLD HAIR. + + + Oh, the beautiful girl, too white, + Who lived at Pornic, down by the sea, + Just where the sea and the Loire unite! + And a boasted name in Brittany + She bore, which I will not write. + + Too white, for the flower of life is red: + Her flesh was the soft seraphic screen + Of a soul that is meant (her parents said) + To just see earth, and hardly be seen, + And blossom in heaven instead. + + Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair! + One grace that grew to its full on earth: + Smiles might be sparse on her cheek so spare, + And her waist want half a girdle's girth, + But she had her great gold hair. + + Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss, + Freshness and fragrance--floods of it, too! + Gold, did I say? Nay, gold's mere dross: + Here, Life smiled, "Think what I meant to do!" + And Love sighed, "Fancy my loss!" + + So, when she died, it was scarce more strange + Than that, when delicate evening dies, + And you follow its spent sun's pallid range, + There's a shoot of colour startles the skies + With sudden, violent change,-- + + That, while the breath was nearly to seek, + As they put the little cross to her lips, + She changed; a spot came out on her cheek, + A spark from her eye in mid-eclipse, + And she broke forth, "I must speak!" + + "Not my hair!" made the girl her moan-- + "All the rest is gone or to go; + But the last, last grace, my all, my own, + Let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know! + Leave my poor gold hair alone!" + + The passion thus vented, dead lay she; + Her parents sobbed their worst on that; + All friends joined in, nor observed degree: + For indeed the hair was to wonder at, + As it spread--not flowing free, + + But curled around her brow, like a crown, + And coiled beside her cheeks, like a cap, + And calmed about her neck--ay, down + To her breast, pressed flat, without a gap + I' the gold, it reached her gown. + + All kissed that face, like a silver wedge + 'Mid the yellow wealth, nor disturbed its hair: + E'en the priest allowed death's privilege, + As he planted the crucifix with care + On her breast, 'twixt edge and edge. + + And thus was she buried, inviolate + Of body and soul, in the very space + By the altar; keeping saintly state + In Pornic church, for her pride of race, + Pure life and piteous fate. + + And in after-time would your fresh tear fall, + Though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile, + As they told you of gold, both robe and pall, + How she prayed them leave it alone awhile, + So it never was touched at all. + + Years flew; this legend grew at last + The life of the lady; all she had done, + All been, in the memories fading fast + Of lover and friend, was summed in one + Sentence survivors passed: + + To wit, she was meant for heaven, not earth; + Had turned an angel before the time: + Yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth + Of frailty, all you could count a crime + Was--she knew her gold hair's worth. + + * * * * * + + At little pleasant Pornic church, + It chanced, the pavement wanted repair, + Was taken to pieces: left in the lurch, + A certain sacred space lay bare, + And the boys began research. + + 'Twas the space where our sires would lay a saint, + A benefactor,--a bishop, suppose, + A baron with armour-adornments quaint, + Dame with chased ring and jewelled rose, + Things sanctity saves from taint; + + So we come to find them in after-days + When the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds + Of use to the living, in many ways: + For the boys get pelf, and the town applauds, + And the church deserves the praise. + + They grubbed with a will: and at length--_O cor + Humanum, pectora cæca_, and the rest!-- + They found--no gaud they were prying for, + No ring, no rose, but--who would have guessed?-- + A double Louis-d'or! + + Here was a case for the priest: he heard, + Marked, inwardly digested, laid + Finger on nose, smiled, "There's a bird + Chirps in my ear:" then, "Bring a spade, + Dig deeper!"--he gave the word. + + And lo, when they came to the coffin-lid, + Or rotten planks which composed it once, + Why, there lay the girl's skull wedged amid + A mint of money, it served for the nonce + To hold in its hair-heaps hid! + + Hid there? Why? Could the girl be wont + (She the stainless soul) to treasure up + Money, earth's trash and heaven's affront? + Had a spider found out the communion-cup, + Was a toad in the christening-font? + + Truth is truth: too true it was. + Gold! She hoarded and hugged it first, + Longed for it, leaned o'er it, loved it--alas-- + Till the humour grew to a head and burst, + And she cried, at the final pass,-- + + "Talk not of God, my heart is stone! + Nor lover nor friend--be gold for both! + Gold I lack; and, my all, my own, + It shall hide in my hair. I scarce die loth + If they let my hair alone!" + + Louis-d'or, some six times five, + And duly double, every piece. + Now, do you see? With the priest to shrive, + With parents preventing her soul's release + By kisses that kept alive,-- + + With heaven's gold gates about to ope, + With friends' praise, gold-like, lingering still, + An instinct had bidden the girl's hand grope + For gold, the true sort--"Gold in heaven, if you will; + But I keep earth's too, I hope." + + Enough! The priest took the grave's grim yield: + The parents, they eyed that price of sin + As if _thirty pieces_ lay revealed + On the place _to bury strangers in_, + The hideous Potter's Field. + + But the priest bethought him: "'Milk that's spilt' + --You know the adage! Watch and pray! + Saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt! + It would build a new altar; that, we may!" + And the altar therewith was built. + + Why I deliver this horrible verse? + As the text of a sermon, which now I preach: + Evil or good may be better or worse + In the human heart, but the mixture of each + Is a marvel and a curse. + + The candid incline to surmise of late + That the Christian faith proves false, I find; + For our Essays-and-Reviews' debate + Begins to tell on the public mind, + And Colenso's words have weight: + + I still, to suppose it true, for my part, + See reasons and reasons; this, to begin: + 'Tis the faith that launched point-blank her dart + At the head of a lie--taught Original Sin, + The Corruption of Man's Heart. + + + + +DONALD. + + + Do you happen to know in Ross-shire + Mount Ben ... but the name scarce matters: + Of the naked fact I am sure enough, + Though I clothe it in rags and tatters. + + You may recognise Ben by description; + Behind him--a moor's immenseness: + Up goes the middle mount of a range, + Fringed with its firs in denseness. + + Rimming the edge, its fir-fringe, mind! + For an edge there is, though narrow; + From end to end of the range, a strip + Of path runs straight as an arrow. + + And the mountaineer who takes that path + Saves himself miles of journey + He has to plod if he crosses the moor + Through heather, peat, and burnie. + + But a mountaineer he needs must be, + For, look you, right in the middle + Projects bluff Ben--with an end in _ich_-- + Why planted there, is a riddle: + + Since all Ben's brothers little and big + Keep rank, set shoulder to shoulder, + And only this burliest out must bulge + Till it seems--to the beholder + + From down in the gully,--as if Ben's breast, + To a sudden spike diminished, + Would signify to the boldest foot + "All further passage finished!" + + Yet the mountaineer who sidles on + And on to the very bending, + Discovers, if heart and brain be proof, + No necessary ending. + + Foot up, foot down, to the turn abrupt + Having trod, he, there arriving, + Finds--what he took for a point was breadth + A mercy of Nature's contriving. + + So, he rounds what, when 'tis reached, proves straight, + From one side gains the other: + The wee path widens--resume the march, + And he foils you, Ben my brother! + + But Donald--(that name, I hope, will do)-- + I wrong him if I call "foiling" + The tramp of the callant, whistling the while + As blithe as our kettle's boiling. + + He had dared the danger from boyhood up, + And now,--when perchance was waiting + A lass at the brig below,--'twixt mount + And moor would he standing debating? + + Moreover this Donald was twenty-five, + A glory of bone and muscle: + Did a fiend dispute the right of way, + Donald would try a tussle. + + Lightsomely marched he out of the broad + On to the narrow and narrow; + A step more, rounding the angular rock, + Reached the front straight as an arrow. + + He stepped it, safe on the ledge he stood, + When--whom found he full-facing? + What fellow in courage and wariness too, + Had scouted ignoble pacing, + + And left low safety to timid mates, + And made for the dread dear danger, + And gained the height where--who could guess + He would meet with a rival ranger? + + 'Twas a gold-red stag that stood and stared, + Gigantic and magnific, + By the wonder--ay, and the peril--struck + Intelligent and pacific: + + For a red deer is no fallow deer + Grown cowardly through park-feeding; + He batters you like a thunderbolt + If you brave his haunts unheeding. + + I doubt he could hardly perform _volte-face_ + Had valour advised discretion: + You may walk on a rope, but to turn on a rope + No Blondin makes profession. + + Yet Donald must turn, would pride permit, + Though pride ill brooks retiring: + Each eyed each--mute man, motionless beast-- + Less fearing than admiring. + + These are the moments when quite new sense, + To meet some need as novel, + Springs up in the brain: it inspired resource: + --"Nor advance nor retreat but--grovel!" + + And slowly, surely, never a whit + Relaxing the steady tension + Of eye-stare which binds man to beast,-- + By an inch and inch declension, + + Sank Donald sidewise down and down: + Till flat, breast upwards, lying + At his six-foot length, no corpse more still, + --"If he cross me! The trick's worth trying." + + Minutes were an eternity; + But a new sense was created + In the stag's brain too; he resolves! Slow, sure, + With eye-stare unabated, + + Feelingly he extends a foot + Which tastes the way ere it touches + Earth's solid and just escapes man's soft, + Nor hold of the same unclutches + + Till its fellow foot, light as a feather whisk, + Lands itself no less finely: + So a mother removes a fly from the face + Of her babe asleep supinely. + + And now 'tis the haunch and hind-foot's turn + --That's hard: can the beast quite raise it? + Yes, traversing half the prostrate length, + His hoof-tip does not graze it. + + Just one more lift! But Donald, you see, + Was sportsman first, man after: + A fancy lightened his caution through, + --He wellnigh broke into laughter: + + "It were nothing short of a miracle! + Unrivalled, unexampled-- + All sporting feats with this feat matched + Were down and dead and trampled!" + + The last of the legs as tenderly + Follows the rest: or never + Or now is the time! His knife in reach, + And his right hand loose--how clever! + + For this can stab up the stomach's soft, + While the left hand grasps the pastern. + A rise on the elbow, and--now's the time + Or never: this turn's the last turn! + + I shall dare to place myself by God + Who scanned--for he does--each feature + Of the face thrown up in appeal to him + By the agonising creature. + + Nay, I hear plain words: "Thy gift brings this!" + Up he sprang, back he staggered, + Over he fell, and with him our friend + --At following game no laggard. + + Yet he was not dead when they picked next day + From the gully's depth the wreck of him; + His fall had been stayed by the stag beneath + Who cushioned and saved the neck of him. + + But the rest of his body--why, doctors said, + Whatever could break was broken; + Legs, arms, ribs, all of him looked like a toast + In a tumbler of port wine soaken. + + "That your life is left you, thank the stag!" + Said they when--the slow cure ended-- + They opened the hospital door, and thence + --Strapped, spliced, main fractures mended, + + And minor damage left wisely alone,-- + Like an old shoe clouted and cobbled, + Out--what went in a Goliath wellnigh,-- + Some half of a David hobbled. + + "You must ask an alms from house to house: + Sell the stag's head for a bracket, + With its grand twelve tines--I'd buy it myself-- + And use the skin for a jacket!" + + He was wiser, made both head and hide + His win-penny: hands and knees on, + Would manage to crawl--poor crab--by the roads + In the misty stalking season. + + And if he discovered a bothy like this, + Why, harvest was sure: folk listened. + He told his tale to the lovers of Sport: + Lips twitched, cheeks glowed, eyes glistened. + + And when he had come to the close, and spread + His spoils for the gazers' wonder, + With "Gentlemen, here's the skull of the stag + I was over, thank God, not under!"-- + + The company broke out in applause; + "By Jingo, a lucky cripple! + Have a munch of grouse and a hunk of bread, + And a tug, besides, at our tipple!" + + And "There's my pay for your pluck!" cried This, + "And mine for your jolly story!" + Cried That, while T'other--but he was drunk-- + Hiccupped "A trump, a Tory!" + + I hope I gave twice as much as the rest; + For, as Homer would say, "within grate + Though teeth kept tongue," my whole soul growled, + "Rightly rewarded,--Ingrate!" + +[Illustration: "AND FULL IN THE FACE OF ITS OWNER FLUNG THE GLOVE."] + + + + +THE GLOVE. + +(PETER RONSARD _loipuitur_.) + + + "Heigho," yawned one day King Francis, + "Distance all value enhances! + When a man's busy, why, leisure + Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: + 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? + Straightway he wants to be busy. + Here we've got peace; and aghast I'm + Caught thinking war the true pastime. + Is there a reason in metre? + Give us your speech, master Peter!" + I who, if mortal dare say so, + Ne'er am at a loss with my Naso, + "Sire," I replied, "joys prove cloudlets: + Men are the merest Ixions"-- + Here the King whistled aloud, "Let's + --Heigho--go look at our lions!" + Such are the sorrowful chances + If you talk fine to King Francis. + + And so, to the courtyard proceeding + Our company, Francis was leading, + Increased by new followers tenfold + Before he arrived at the penfold; + Lords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen + At sunset the western horizon. + And Sir De Lorge pressed 'mid the foremost + With the dame he professed to adore most. + Oh, what a face! One by fits eyed + Her, and the horrible pitside; + For the penfold surrounded a hollow + Which led where the eye scarce dared follow, + And shelved to the chamber secluded + Where Bluebeard, the great lion, brooded. + The King hailed his keeper, an Arab + As glossy and black as a scarab, + And bade him make sport and at once stir + Up and out of his den the old monster. + They opened a hole in the wire-work + Across it, and dropped there a firework, + And fled: one's heart's beating redoubled; + A pause, while the pit's mouth was troubled, + The blackness and silence so utter, + By the firework's slow sparkling and sputter; + Then earth in a sudden contortion + Gave out to our gaze her abortion. + Such a brute! Were I friend Clement Marot + (Whose experience of nature's but narrow, + And whose faculties move in no small mist + When he versifies David the Psalmist) + I should study that brute to describe you + _Illum Juda Leonem de Tribu_. + + One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy + To see the black mane, vast and heapy, + The tail in the air stiff and straining, + The wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning, + As over the barrier which bounded + His platform, and us who surrounded + The barrier, they reached and they rested + On space that might stand him in best stead: + For who knew, he thought, what the amazement, + The eruption of clatter and blaze meant, + And if, in this minute of wonder, + No outlet, 'mid lightning and thunder, + Lay broad, and, his shackles all shivered, + The lion at last was delivered? + Ay, that was the open sky o'erhead! + And you saw by the flash on his forehead, + By the hope in those eyes wide and steady. + He was leagues in the desert already, + Driving the flocks up the mountain, + Or catlike couched hard by the fountain + To waylay the date-gathering negress: + So guarded he entrance or egress. + "How he stands!" quoth the King: "we may well swear, + (No novice, we've won our spurs elsewhere + And so can afford the confession,) + We exercise wholesome discretion + In keeping aloof from his threshold, + Once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold, + Their first would too pleasantly purloin + The visitor's brisket or sirloin: + But who's he would prove so foolhardy? + Not the best man of Marignan, pardie!" + + The sentence no sooner was uttered, + Than over the rails a glove fluttered, + Fell close to the lion, and rested: + The dame 'twas, who flung it and jested + With life so, De Lorge had been wooing + For months past; he sat there pursuing + His suit, weighing out with nonchalance + Fine speeches like gold from a balance. + + Sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier! + De Lorge made one leap at the barrier, + Walked straight to the glove,--while the lion + Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on + The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire, + And the musky oiled skin of the Kaffir,-- + Picked it up, and as calmly retreated, + Leaped back where the lady was seated, + And full in the face of its owner + Flung the glove. + + "Your heart's queen, you dethrone her? + So should I!"--cried the King--"'twas mere vanity, + Not love, set that task to humanity!" + Lords and ladies alike turned with loathing + From such a proved wolf in sheep's clothing. + + Not so, I; for I caught an expression + In her brow's undisturbed self-possession + Amid the Court's scoffing and merriment,-- + As if from no pleasing experiment + She rose, yet of pain not much heedful + So long as the process was needful,-- + As if she had tried in a crucible, + To what "speeches like gold" were reducible, + And, finding the finest prove copper, + Felt the smoke in her face was but proper; + To know what she had _not_ to trust to, + Was worth all the ashes and dust too. + She went out 'mid hooting and laughter; + Clement Marot stayed; I followed after, + And asked, as a grace, what it all meant? + If she wished not the rash deed's recallment? + "For I"--so I spoke--"am a poet: + Human nature,--behooves that I know it!" + + She told me, "Too long had I heard + Of the deed proved alone by the word: + For my love--what De Lorge would not dare! + With my scorn--what De Lorge could compare! + And the endless descriptions of death + He would brave when my lip formed a breath, + I must reckon as braved, or, of course, + Doubt his word--and moreover, perforce, + For such gifts as no lady could spurn, + Must offer my love in return. + When I looked on your lion, it brought + All the dangers at once to my thought, + Encountered by all sorts of men, + Before he was lodged in his den,-- + From the poor slave whose club or bare hands + Dug the trap, set the snare on the sands, + With no King and no Court to applaud, + By no shame, should he shrink, overawed, + Yet to capture the creature made shift, + That his rude boys might laugh at the gift, + --To the page who last leaped o'er the fence + Of the pit, on no greater pretence + Than to get back the bonnet he dropped, + Lest his pay for a week should be stopped. + So, wiser I judged it to make + One trial what 'death for my sake' + Really meant, while the power was yet mine, + Than to wait until time should define + Such a phrase not so simply as I, + Who took it to mean just 'to die.' + The blow a glove gives is but weak: + Does the mark yet discolour my cheek? + But when the heart suffers a blow, + Will the pain pass so soon, do you know?" + + I looked, as away she was sweeping, + And saw a youth eagerly keeping + As close as he dared to the doorway. + No doubt that a noble should more weigh + His life than befits a plebeian; + And yet, had our brute been Nemean-- + (I judge by a certain calm fervour + The youth stepped with, forward to serve her) + --He'd have scarce thought you did him the worst turn + If you whispered, "Friend, what you'd get, first earn!" + And when, shortly after, she carried + Her shame from the Court, and they married, + To that marriage some happiness, maugre + The voice of the Court, I dared augur. + + + THE END. + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as + possible. + + There is no Number 8 in the list of books in "Every Boy's Library". + + Illustrations have been moved. + + Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. + Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=. + OE ligatures have been expanded. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pied Piper of Hamelin and Other +Poems, by Robert Browning + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42850 *** |