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BY ROBERT BROWNING.

SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he:
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ;
Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-
bolts undrew,

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Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

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Not a word to each other: we kept the great pace,
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit;
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned 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!"

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past ;
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze as some bluff river headland its spray;

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence,

ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

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.

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!"

"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.

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

And all I remember is friends flocking round,

As I sate 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.

THE OLD POLITICIAN.

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN.

OW that Tom Dunstan 's cold,
Our shop is duller;

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Scarce a story

is told!

And our chat has lost the old

Red republican color!

Though he was sickly and thin,

He gladdened us with his face; How, warming at rich man's sin, With bang of the fist, and chin Thrust out, he argued the case! He prophesied folk should be free, And the money-bags be bled; "She's coming, she's coming!" said he; Courage, boys! wait and see! Freedom's ahead!"

All day we sat in the heat,

Like spiders spinning, Stitching full fine and fleet,

While the old Jew on his seat

Sat greasily grinning;

And there Tom said his say,

And prophesied Tyranny's death;
And the tallow burnt all day,
And we stitched and stitched away
In the thick smoke of our breath,
Wearily, wearily,

66

With hearts as heavy as lead;

But "Patience, she 's coming!" said he; Courage, boys! wait and see! Freedom's ahead!

And at night, when we took here
The pause allowed to us,

The paper came with the beer,
And Tom read, sharp and clear,

The news out loud to us;
And then, in his witty way,
He threw the jest about,
The cutting things he'd say
Of the wealthy and gay!

How he turned them inside out!

And it made our breath more free

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To hearken to what he said;

She's coming, she's coming!" says he; Courage, boys! wait and see! Freedom's ahead!"

But grim Jack Hart, with a sneer,
Would mutter, "Master!

If Freedom means to appear,
I think she might step here

A little faster!"

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