Which struck her aft, and made an awkward rift,
Started the stern-post, also shattered the
Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift
Herself from out her present jeopardy,

The rudder tore away: 'twas time to sound
The pumps, and there were four feet water found.

XXX

As day advanced the weather seemed to abate,
And then the leak they reckoned to reduce,
And keep the ship afloat, though three feet yet
Kept two hand and one chain-pump still in use.
The wind blew fresh again: as it grew late

A squall came on, and while some guns broke loose, which all descriptive power transcends

A gust

Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends.

XXXVIII

But now there came a flash of hope once more;
Day broke, and the wind lulled: the masts were gone,
The leak increased; shoals round her, but no shore,
The vessel swam, yet still she held her own.
They tried the pumps again, and though, before,
Their desperate efforts seemed all useless grown,
A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale -
The stronger pumped, the weaker thrummed a sail.

XLV

Some lashed them in their hammocks; some put on
Their best clothes, as if going to a fair;

Some cursed the day on which they saw the sun,

And gnashed their teeth, and, howling, tore their hair;

And others went on as they had begun,

Getting the boats out, being well aware That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, Unless with breakers close beneath her lee.

XLVIII

The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had
Been stove in the beginning of the gale;
And the long-boat's condition was but bad,
As there were but two blankets for a sail,
And one oar for a mast, which a young lad

Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail; And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, To save one half the people then on board.

XLIX

'T was twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil,

Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
Of one whose hate is masked but to assail.
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,
And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale,

And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

LI

At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars,
And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose,
That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,
For yet they strove, although of no great use:

There was no light in heaven but a few stars,
The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews;
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,

And, going down head foremost

LII

sunk, in short.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell-
Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave,
Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;

And the sea yawned around her like a hell,

And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,

Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And strives to strangle him before he die.

LIII

And first one universal shriek there rushed,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek - the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

George Gordon Byron

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon:

A mile or so away,

On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming-day;

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms lock'd behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall," —

Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reach'd the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect

By just his horse's mane, a boy:

You hardly could suspect

(So tight he kept his lips compress'd,

Scarce any

blood came through)

You look'd twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace

We've got you Ratisbon!

The Marshal's in the market-place

And you'll be there anon

To see your flag-bird flap his vans

Where I, to heart's desire,

Perch'd him!" The chief's eye flash'd; his plans

Soar'd up again like fire.

The chief's eye flash'd; but presently

Soften'd itself, as sheathes

A film the mother-eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes.

"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride

Touch'd to the quick, he said:

"I'm kill'd, Sire!" And his chief beside,

Smiling the boy fell dead.

-Robert Browning

"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX"

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three;

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;

66

Speed!" echo'd the wall to us galloping through;

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we gallop'd abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turn'd in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shorten'd each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chain'd slacker the bit,
Nor gallop'd less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawn'd clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Düffeld, 't was morning as plain as could be;
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"