"Oh, help me, Hercules!" cried he;
"For if thy back of yore

This burly planet bore,
Thy arm can set me free."

T.'s prayer gone up, from out a cloud there broke
A voice which thus in godlike accents spoke:
"The suppliant must himself bestir,
Ere Hercules will aid confer.
Look wisely in the proper quarter,

To see what hindrance can be found;
Remove the execrable mud and mortar
Which, axle-deep, beset thy wheels around.
Thy sledge and crowbar take,

And pry me up that stone, or break;
Now fill that rut upon the other side.

Hast done it?" "Yes," the man replied.
"Well," said the voice, "I'll aid thee now;

Take up thy whip." "I have . . . but, how?
My cart glides on with ease!

I thank thee, Hercules."

"Thy team," rejoined the voice, "has light ado; So help thyself, and Heaven will help thee too."

THE WEASEL, THE RABBIT, AND THE CAT.

John Rabbit's palace underground
Was once by Goody Weasel found.
She, sly of heart, resolved to seize
The place, and did so at her ease.
She took possession while its lord
Was absent on the dewy sward,

Intent upon his usual sport, -
A courtier of Aurora's court.
When he had browsed his full of clover,
And cut his pranks all nicely over,

Home Johnny came to take his drowse,

All snug within his cellar house.

The weasel's nose he chanced to see,
Outsticking through the open door.
"Ye gods of hospitality!"

Exclaimed the creature, vexèd sore,
"Must I give up my father's lodge?
Ho! Madam Weasel, please to budge,
Or, quicker than a weasel's dodge,

I'll call the rats to pay their grudge!"

The sharp-nosed lady made reply
That she was first to occupy.

"The cause of war was surely small-
A house where one could only crawl!
And though it were a vast domain,"

Said she, "I'd like to know what will
Could grant to John perpetual reign, -
The son of Peter or of Bill, —
More than to Paul, or even me.”
John Rabbit spoke great lawyer he-
Of custom, usage, as the law

Whereby the house, from sire to son,
As well as all its store of straw,

From Peter came at length to John.
Who could present a claim so good
As he, the first possessor, could?

"Now," said the dame, "let's drop dispute, And go before Raminagrobis,

Who'll judge not only in this suit,

But tell us truly whose the globe is."

This person was a hermit cat,

A cat that played the hypocrite; A saintly mouser, sleek and fat,

An arbiter of keenest wit.

John Rabbit in the judge concurred,

And off went both their case to broach

Before his Majesty, the furred.

Said Clapperclaw, "My kits, approach,

And put your noses to my ears;
I'm deaf, almost, by weight of years."
And so they did, not fearing aught.

The good apostle Clapperclaw
Then laid on each a well-armed paw,
And both to an agreement brought,
By virtue of his tuskèd jaw.

This fable brings to mind the fate
Of little kings before the great.

66

HERVÉ RIEL

BY ROBERT BROWNING.

[ROBERT BROWNING, English poet, was born in London, May 7, 1812; mar. ried Elizabeth Barrett in 1846, and lived in Italy the greater part of his life afterward. His first considerable poem was "Pauline" (1833, anonymous). There followed, among others, "Paracelsus" (1835); "Strafford" (1837); "Sordello" (1840); "Bells and Pomegranates" (a collection including "Pippa Passes," 'King Victor and King Charles," "Colombe's Birthday," "The Return of the Druses," "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon," "Luria," and "A Soul's Tragedy") (1841-46); " Men and Women" and "Dramatis Personæ," collections of minor poems, in 1855 and 1864; "The Ring and the Book" (1868); "Balaustion's Adventure" and "Prince Hohenstiel Schwangau " (1871); " Fifine at the Fair" (1872); "Red Cotton Night-Cap Country" (1873); "The Inn-Album " (1876); "Dramatic Idylls" (1879); "Asolando" (1889). He died in Venice, December 12, 1889.]

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 thro' the blue,
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance,
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 signaled to the place,

"Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick—or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will!"

III.

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;

66

'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.

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,

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 thro' shoal and rock,

How they follow in a flock,

Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
Not a spar that comes to grief!
The peril, see, is past,

All are harbored to the last,

And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!".

Up the English come, too late!

sure as fate

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 glance askance
As they cannonade away!

'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"
How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!