Various - Ballads of Bravery стр 2.

HER arms across her breast she laid;
She was more fair than words can say;
Barefooted came the beggar maid
Before the king Cophetua.
In robe and crown the king stept down
To meet and greet her on her way.
It is no wonder, said the lords,
She is more beautiful than day.

As shines the moon in clouded skies,
She in her poor attire was seen;
One praised her ankles, one her eyes,
One her dark hair and lovesome mien.
So sweet a face, such angel grace,
In all that land had never been;
Cophetua sware a royal oath,
This beggar maid shall be my queen.

NOT yet, not yet! Steady, steady!
On came the foe in even line,
Nearer and nearer to thrice paces nine.
We looked into their eyes. Ready!
A sheet of flame, a roll of death!
They fell by scores: we held our breath.
Then nearer still they came.
Another sheet of flame,
And brave men fled who never fled before.
Immortal fight!
Foreshadowing flight
Back to the astounded shore.

Quickly they rallied, re-enforced,
Mid louder roar of ships artillery,
And bursting bombs and whistling musketry,
And shouts and groans anear, afar,
All the new din of dreadful war.
Through their broad bosoms calmly coursed
The blood of those stout farmers, aiming
For freedom, manhoods birthright claiming.
Onward once more they came.
Another sheet of deathful flame!
Another and another still!
They broke, they fled,
Again they sped
Down the green, bloody hill.

Howe, Burgoyne, Clinton, Gage,
Stormed with commanders rage.
Into each emptied barge
They crowd fresh men for a new charge
Up that great hill.
Again their gallant blood we spill.
That volley was the last:
Our powder failed.
On three sides fast
The foe pressed in, nor quailed
A man. Their barrels empty, with musket-stocks
They fought, and gave death-dealing knocks,
Till Prescott ordered the retreat.
Then Warren fell; and through a leaden sleet
From Bunker Hill and Breed,
Stark, Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowlton, Read,
Led off the remnant of those heroes true,
The foe too weakened to pursue.
The ground they gained; but we
The victory.

The tidings of that chosen band
Flowed in a wave of power
Over the shaken, anxious land,
To men, to man, a sudden dower.
History took a fresh, higher start
From that stanch, beaming hour;
And when the speeding messenger, that bare
The news that strengthened every heart,
Met near the Delaware
The leader, who had just been named,
Who was to be so famed,
The steadfast, earnest Washington,
With hands uplifted, cries,
His great soul flashing to his eyes,
Our liberties are safe! The cause is won!
A thankful look he cast to heaven, and then
His steed he spurred, in haste to lead such noble men.

STAND still, my steed, though the foe   is near,
And sharp the rattle of hoofs on the hill.
And see! theres the glitter of many a spear,
And a wrathful shout that bodes us ill.
Stand still! Our way is weary and long,
And muscle and foot are put to the test.
Buckle and girth must be tightened and strong;
And rider and horse are far from rest.

A moment more, and then well skim
Like a driving cloud oer hill and plain;
The vision of horseman will slowly dim,
And pursuer seek the pursued in vain.
Ha! stirrup is strong and girth is tight!
One bound to the saddle, and off we go.
I count their spears as they glisten bright
In the ruddy beams of the sunset glow.

Tis life or death; but were fresh and strong,
And buckle and girth are fastened tight.
The race is hard and the way is long,
But well win as twilight fades into night.
Hurrah for rider and horse to-day,
For buckle and saddle fastened tight!
Well win! were gaining! They drop away!
Our haven of rest is full in sight.

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 St. Malo on the Rance,
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;
And they signalled to the place,
Help the winners of a race!
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick,  or, quicker still,
Heres the English can and will!

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped 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!

Then was called a council straight;
Brief and bitter the debate:
Heres the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
All thats 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.

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.

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 Greve, where the river disembogues?
Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lyings 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, theres 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 Greve,
And there lay them safe and sound;
And if one ship misbehave,
Keel so much as grate the ground,
Why, Ive nothing but my life; heres my head! cries Hervé Riel.

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 Gods grace.
See the noble fellows 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 seas 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 halloos, Anchor! sure as fate,
Up the English come, too late.

So the storm subsides to calm;
They see the green trees wave
On the heights oerlooking Greve.
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 captains countenance!
Out burst all with one accord,
This is Paradise for Hell!
Let France, let Frances 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.

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 whateer you will,
France remains your debtor still.
Ask to hearts content, and have, or my names not Damfreville.
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 dutys 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.

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 rack
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, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!