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28 THE BOYS’ BROWNING.

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 through shoal and ee
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 harboured to the last,
And just as Hervé 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
On the heights o’erlooking Gréve.
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 Captain’s counte-
nance !