The Pied Piper of Hamelin, and Other Poems - Robert Browning

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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!

      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,

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