And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

VI.

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.

VII.

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!"

VIII.

"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.

IX.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

Robert Browning. III.

2

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.

X.

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.

Who dares chide my heart's pride
As I ride, as I ride?

Or are witnesses denied

Through the desert waste and wide
Do I glide unespied

As I ride, as I ride?

As I ride, as I ride,

III.

When an inner voice has cried,
The sands slide, nor abide

(As I ride, as I ride)

O'er each visioned homicide

That came vaunting (has he lied?)

To reside-where he died,

As I ride, as I ride.

As I ride, as I ride,

IV.

Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied,
Yet his hide, streaked and pied,

As I ride, as I ride,

Shows where sweat has sprung and dried,

-Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed

How has vied stride with stride

As I ride, as I ride!

As I ride, as I ride,

V.

Could I loose what Fate has tied,
Ere I pried, she should hide

(As I ride, as I ride)

All that's meant me-satisfied
When the Prophet and the Bride
Stop veins I'd have subside.
As I ride, as I ride!

NATIONALITY IN DRINKS.

I.

My heart sank with our Claret-flask,
Just now, beneath the heavy sedges
That serve this pond's black face for mask;
And still at yonder broken edges
O' the hole, where up the bubbles glisten,
After my heart I look and listen.

II.

Our laughing little flask, compelled

Thro' depth to depth more bleak and shady; As when, both arms beside her held,

Feet straightened out, some gay French lady
Is caught up from life's light and motion,
And dropped into death's silent ocean!

Up jumped Tokay on our table,
Like a pygmy castle-warder,

Dwarfish to see, but stout and abie,

Arms and accoutrements all in order;

And fierce he looked North, then, wheeling South, Blew with his bugle a challenge to Drouth, Cocked his flap-hat with the tosspot-feather, Twisted his thumb in his red moustache,

Jingled his huge brass spurs together,
Tightened his waist with its Buda sash,

And then, with an impudence nought could abash,
Shrugged his hump-shoulder, to tell the beholder,
For twenty such knaves he should laugh but the bolder:
And so, with his sword-hilt gallantly jutting,

And dexter-hand on his haunch abutting,
Went the little man, Sir Ausbruch, strutting!

Here's to Nelson's memory!

'Tis the second time that I, at sea,

Right off Cape Trafalgar here,

Have drunk it deep in British Beer.

Nelson for ever—any time

Am I his to command in prose or rhyme!
Give me of Nelson only a touch,

And I save it, be it little or much:
Here's one our Captain gives, and so

Down at the word, by George, shall it go!

He says that at Greenwich they point the beholder To Nelson's coat, "still with tar on the shoulder, "For he used to lean with one shoulder digging, "Jigging, as it were, and zig-zag-zigging "Up against the mizen-rigging!"

GARDEN FANCIES.

I. THE FLOWER'S NAME.

I.

HERE 's the garden she walked across,

Arm in my arm, such a short while since: