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 bear 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 buff-coat, 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.

ROBERT BROWNING.

THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE.

TRAMPLE! trample ! went the roan,

Trap! trap! went the gray;

But pad! pad! PAD! like a thing that was mad, My chestnut broke away.

It was just five miles from Salisbury town,

And but one hour to day.

Thud! THUD! came on the heavy roan,
Rap! RAP! the mettled gray;

But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare,
That she showed them all the way.
Spur on! spur on! - I doffed my hat,
And wished them all good-day.

They splashed through miry rut and pool,-
Splintered through fence and rail;

But chestnut Kate switched over the gate,-
I saw them droop and tail.

To Salisbury town - but a mile of down,
Once over this brook and rail.

Trap trap! I heard their echoing hoofs
Past the walls of mossy stone;

The roan flew on at a staggering pace,
But blood is better than bone.

I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur,
For I knew it was all my own.

But trample! trample! came their steeds,
And I saw their wolf's eyes burn;

I felt like a royal hart at bay,

And made me ready to turn.

I looked where highest grew the May,
And deepest arched the fern.

I flew at the first knave's sallow throat;

One blow, and he was down.

The second rogue fired twice, and missed;
I sliced the villain's crown,—

Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate,
Fast, fast to Salisbury town!

Pad! pad! they came on the level sward,
Thud! thud! upon the sand,—

With a gleam of swords and a burning match,
And a shaking of flag and hand;

But one long bound, and I passed the gate,

Safe from the canting band.

WALTER THORNBURY.

THE CAVALIER'S SONG.

A STEED! a steed of matchlesse speed,
A sword of metal keene !

All else to noble heartes is drosse,

All else on earth is meane.

The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde,
The rowlinge of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet lowde,

Be soundes from heaven that come; And O! the thundering presse of knightes, Whenas their war-cryes swell,

May tole from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all,

And don your helmes amaine;

Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call

Us to the field againe.

No shrewish teares shall fill our eye

When the sword-hilt 's in our hand