Romance As he stepped in front once more, and Not a symptom of surprise Reality

In the frank blue Breton eyes,

Just the same man as before.

Then said Damfreville, "My friend,
I must speak out at the end,
Though I find the speaking hard.
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,

France remains your debtor still.

Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville."

Then a beam of fun outbroke

On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As the honest heart laughed through
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—

Since the others go ashore

Come! A good whole holiday!

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Romance

Belle Aurore!

That he asked and that he got, nothing more.

Name and deed alike are lost:

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 wrack

of the man but for whom had gone

to

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 Hervé
Riel.

So, for better and for worse,

Hervé Riel, accept my verse!

In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more
Save the squadron, honour France, love thy wife,
the Belle Aurore!

6

ROBERT BROWNING.

and

Reality

Romance and Reality

Vision of Belshazzar.

The King was on his throne,
The Satraps throng'd the hall:
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah deem'd divine-
Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless Heathen's wine.

In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man—
A solitary hand

Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand.

The monarch saw, and shook,

And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless wax'd his look,

And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth."

Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
'And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw-but knew no more.

A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth,
He heard the king's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night-
The morrow proved it true.

"Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom pass'd away, He, in the balance weigh'd,

Is light and worthless clay; The shroud his robe of state, His canopy the stone;

The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne!"

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON.

Romance and Reality

Romance and

Solomon and the Bees

Reality When Solomon was reigning in his glory, Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came(So in the Talmud you may read the story)—

Drawn by the magic of the monarch's fame,
To see the splendors of his court, and bring
Some fitting tribute to the mighty King.

Nor this alone: much had her highness heard
What flowers of learning graced the royal

speech;

What gems of wisdom dropped with every word;
What wholesome lessons he was wont to teach
In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in sooth,
To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth.

Besides, the Queen had heard (which piqued her
most)

How through the deepest riddles he could spy; How all the curious arts that women boast

Were quite transparent to his piercing eye;
And so the Queen had come-a royal guest-
To put the sage's cunning to the test.

And straight she held before the monarch's view,
In either hand, a radiant wreath of flowers;
The one bedecked with every charming hue,
Was newly culled from Nature's choicest

bowers;