Chapter 18

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good ships in all; 10 And they 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 15 board; "Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they; "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored, Shall the _Formidable_ here, with her twelve and eighty guns, Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter--where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 20 And with flow at full beside? Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay!" 25

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? 30 Better run the ships aground!" (Ended Damfreville his speech). "Not a minute more to wait! Let the Captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! 35 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? 40 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, Herve Riel the Croisickese.

VI

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve Riel; 45 "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 smell 'Twixt the offing here and Greve where the river disembogues? Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 50 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 55 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, 60 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, I've nothing but my life;--here's my head!" cries Herve 65 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. 70 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 75 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. 80 All are harbored to the last, And just as Herve 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 85 On the heights o'erlooking 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 90 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! 95 Let France, let France's King Thank the man that did the thing!" What a shout, and all one word, "Herve Riel!" As he stepped in front once more, Not a symptom of surprise 100 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. 105 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, 110 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 115 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-- 120 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. 125 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 130 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 Herve Riel. 135 So, for better and for worse, Herve Riel, accept my verse! In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!

"GOOD, TO FORGIVE"

Good, to forgive; Best, to forget! Living, we fret; Dying, we live. Fretless and free, 5 Soul, clap thy pinion! Earth have dominion, Body, o'er thee!

Wander at will, Day after day-- 10 Wander away, Wandering still-- Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber: Body shall cumber 15 Soul-flight no more.

Waft of soul's wing! What lies above? Sunshine and Love, Skyblue and Spring! 20 Body hides--where? Ferns of all feather, Mosses and heather. Yours be the care!

"SUCH A STARVED BANK OF MOSS"

Such a starved bank of moss Till, that May-morn, Blue ran the flash across: Violets were born!

Sky--what a scowl of cloud 5 Till, near and far, Ray on ray split the shroud: Splendid, a star!

World--how it walled about Life with disgrace 10 Till God's own smile came out: That was thy face!

EPILOGUE TO THE TWO POETS OF CROISIC

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, 5 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, 10 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 15 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, 20 --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, 25 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!" 30

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 35 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 40 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, 45 What does cricket else but fling Fiery heart forth, sound the note Wanted by the throbbing throat?

Aye and, ever to the ending, Cricket chirps at need, 50 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 55 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!" 60

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 65 For aiding soul-development.

No! This other, on returning Homeward, prize in hand, Satisfied his bosom's yearning (Sir, I hope you understand!) 70 --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 75 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 80 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, 85 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? 90

"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 snapped in twain, 95 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 100 Asked the treble to atone For its somewhat somber drone."

But you don't know music! Wherefore Keep on casting pearls To a--poet? All I care for 105 Is--to tell him that a girl's "Love" comes aptly in when gruff Grows his singing. (There, enough!)

PHEIDIPPIDES

[Greek: Chairete, nikomen.]

First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all! Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, coequal in praise --Aye, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear! Also ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer, 5 Now, henceforth and forever--O latest to whom I upraise Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock! Present to help, potent to save, Pan--patron I call!

Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return! See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks! 10 Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, "Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid! Persia has come, we are here, where is She?" Your command I obeyed, Ran and raced; like stubble, some field which a fire runs through, Was the space between city and city. Two days, two nights did 15 I burn Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks.

Into their midst I broke; breath served but for "Persia has come! Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth; Razed to the ground is Eretria--but Athens, shall Athens sink, Drop into dust and die--the flower of Hellas utterly die, 20 Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by? Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er destruction's brink? How--when? No care for my limbs!--there's lightning in all and some-- Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!"

O my Athens--Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond? 25 Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust, Malice--each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate! Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood Quivering--the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from dry wood-- "Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate? 30 Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them 'Ye must'!" No bolt launched from Olumpos! Lo, their answer at last!

"Has Persia come--does Athens ask aid--may Sparta befriend? Nowise precipitate judgment--too weighty the issue at stake! 35 Count we no time lost time which lags through respect to the gods! Ponder that precept of old, 'No warfare, whatever the odds In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take Full circle her state in the sky!' Already she rounds to it fast: Athens must wait, patient as we--who judgment suspend." 40

Athens--except for that sparkle--thy name, I had moldered to ash! That sent a blaze through my blood; off, off and away was I back, --Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile! Yet "O gods of my land!" I cried, as each hillock and plain, Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, 45 "Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you erewhile? Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack!

"Oak and olive and bay--I bid you cease to enwreathe Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot, 50 You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave! Rather I hail thee, Parnes--trust to thy wild waste tract! Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave No deity deigns to drape with verdure? At least I can breathe, 55 Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!"

Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across: 60 "Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse? Athens to aid? Though the dive were through Erebos, thus I obey-- Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge Better!"--when--ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are?

There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he--majestical Pan! 65 Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof; All the great god was good in the eyes grave-kindly--the curl Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe, As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. "Halt, Pheidippides!"--halt I did, my brain of a whirl. 70 "Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?" he gracious began; "How is it--Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof?

"Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast! Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old? Aye, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me! 75 Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, 'The Goat-God saith: When Persia--so much as strews not the soil--is cast in the sea, Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least, Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and 80 the bold!'

"Say Pan saith: 'Let this, foreshowing the place, be the pledge!'" (Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear --Fennel--I grasped it a-tremble with dew--whatever it bode) "While, as for thee" ... But enough! He was gone. If I ran hitherto-- Be sure that, the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but 85 flew. Parnes to Athens--earth no more, the air was my road; Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge! Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare!

* * * * *

Then spoke Miltiades. "And thee, best runner of Greece, Whose limbs did duty indeed--what gift is promised thyself? 90 Tell it us straightway--Athens the mother demands of her son!" Rosily blushed the youth; he paused; but, lifting at length His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength Into the utterance--"Pan spoke thus: 'For what thou hast done Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release 95 From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!'

"I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind! Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may grow-- Pound--Pan helping us--Persia to dust, and, under the deep, Whelm her away forever; and then--no Athens to save-- 100 Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave-- Hie to my house and home; and, when my children shall creep Close to my knees--recount how the God was awful yet kind, Promised their sire reward to the full--rewarding him--so!"

* * * * *

Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day; 105 So, when Persia was dust, all cried, "To Akropolis! Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due! 'Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout!" He flung down his shield, Ran like fire once more; and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through, 110 Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine through clay, Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died--the bliss!

So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute Is still "Rejoice!"--his word which brought rejoicing indeed. So is Pheidippides happy forever--the noble strong man 115 Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god loved so well; He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, So to end gloriously--once to shout, thereafter be mute: "Athens is saved!"--Pheidippides dies in the shout for his 120 meed.

MULEYKEH

If a stranger passed the tent of Hoseyn, 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 5 On his breast a moon-like prize, some orb which of night makes morn.

"What if no flocks and herds enrich the son of Sinan? 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, 10 Muleykeh, 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 Hoseyn--and right, I say. Do the ten steeds run a race of glory? Outstripping all, Ever Muleykeh stands first steed at the victor's staff. 15 Who started, the owner's hope, gets shamed and named, that day. 'Silence,' or, last but one, is 'The Cuffed,' as we use to call Whom the paddock's lord thrusts forth. Right, Hoseyn, I say, to laugh!"

"Boasts he Muleykeh the Pearl?" the stranger replies: "Be sure On him I waste nor scorn nor pity, but lavish both 20 On Duhl the son of Sheyban, who withers away in heart For envy of Hoseyn'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 Sheyban comes riding to Hoseyn's tent, 25 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 30 long."

Said Hoseyn, "You feed young beasts a many, of famous breed, Slit-eared, unblemished, fat, true offspring of Muzennem: There stumbles no weak-eyed she in the line as it climbs the hill. But I love Muleykeh's face; her forefront whitens indeed Like a yellowish wave's cream-crest. Your camels--go gaze on 35 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, aye--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, 40 '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 Hoseyn, "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 45 left? The oil of your lamp is your son, I shine while Muleykeh lives. Would I beg your son to cheer my dark if Muleykeh died? It is life against life--what good avails to the life-bereft?"