Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Robert Browning 1812–89

“How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix”

BrowningR

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I gallop’d, Dirck gallop’d, we gallop’d all three;

“Good speed !” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;

“Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through;

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we gallop’d abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;

I turn’d in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shorten’d each stirrup, and set the pique right,

Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chain’d slacker the bit,

Nor gallop’d less steadily Roland a whit.

’T was moonset at starting; but while we drew near

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawn’d clear;

At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;

At Düffeld, ’t was morning as plain as could be;

And from Mechelm church-steeple we heard the half chime,

So, Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time!”

At Aershot, up leap’d of a sudden the sun,

And against him the cattle stood black every one,

To state thro’ 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 prick’d out on his track;

And one eye’s black intelligence,—ever that glance

O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!

And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon

His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groan’d; and cried Joris “Stay spur!

Your Roos gallop’d bravely, the fault’s not in her,

We ’ll remember at Aix”—for one heard the quick wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretch’d neck and staggering knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shudder’d and sank.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laugh’d 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

Roll’d 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 buffcoat, each holster let fall,

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

Stood up in the stirrup, lean’d, patted his ear,

Call’d my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;

Clapp’d my hands, laugh’d and sang, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland gallop’d and stood.

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 pour’d 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.