FASTENING THE

BUCKLE.

TAND still, my steed, though the foe is near,

And sharp the rattle of hoofs on the hill. And see! there's the glitter of many a spear, And a wrathful shout that bodes us ill. Stand still! Our way is weary and long,

And muscle and foot are put to the test. Buckle and girth must be tightened and strong; And rider and horse are far from rest.

A moment more, and then we'll skim

Like a driving cloud o'er hill and plain; The vision of horseman will slowly dim,

And pursuer seek the pursued in vain. Ha! stirrup is strong and girth is tight!

One bound to the saddle, and off we go. I count their spears as they glisten bright In the ruddy beams of the sunset glow. 'Tis life or death; but we 're fresh and strong, And buckle and girth are fastened tight.

The race is hard and the way is long,

But we'll win as twilight fades into night.

Hurrah for rider and horse to-day,

For buckle and saddle fastened tight! We'll win! we're gaining! They drop away! Our haven of rest is full in sight.

HERVÉ RIEL.

woe to France !

N the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,
Did the English fight the French,
And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance,
With the English fleet in view.

'T was the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase, First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville. Close on him fled, great and small,

Twenty-two good ships in all;

And they signalled to the place,

"Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick, —or, quicker still,
Here's the English can and will!”

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board.

"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they. "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,

Shall the Formidable here, with her twelve and eighty guns,

Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,

And with flow at full beside?

Now 't is slackest ebb of tide.
Reach the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs,

Not a ship will leave the bay!”

Then was called a council straight;

Brief and bitter the debate:

"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,

For a prize to Plymouth Sound?
Better run the ships aground!"
(Ended Damfreville his speech.)
"Not a minute more to wait!

Let the captains all and each

Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!
France must undergo her fate."

"Give the word!" But no such word

Was ever spoke or heard ;

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these,

A captain? A lieutenant? A mate,

first, second, third?

No such man of mark, and meet

With his betters to compete,

But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet, -
A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel, the Croisickese.

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel.

"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell

"Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues?

OR