Ballads and lyrics . ck heavy spume-flakes which aye and anonHis fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, Stay spur!Your Roos galloped bravely, the faults not in her,We 11 remember at Aix —for one heard the quick wheezeOf her chest, saw the stretched neck and stao-aerinor sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and T, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, Neath our feet broke the brittle brio;ht stu
Ballads and lyrics . ck heavy spume-flakes which aye and anonHis fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, Stay spur!Your Roos galloped bravely, the faults not in her,We 11 remember at Aix —for one heard the quick wheezeOf her chest, saw the stretched neck and stao-aerinor sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and T, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, Neath our feet broke the brittle brio;ht stubble like chaff:Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprung Gallop, gasped Joris, for Aix is in sight! ^ How they 11 greet us! — and all in a moment his roanRolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ;And there was my Roland, to bear the whole weightOf the news which alone could save Aix from her his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,And with circles of red for his eye-sockets In the market-place of Bruges standsThe belfry old and brown. See p. 237. THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 237 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, 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 flockincr roundAs I sat with his head twixt my knees on the groundAnd no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,As I poured down his throat our last measure of (the burgesses voted by common consent)Was no more than his due who broug;ht oood newsfrom Ghent. Robert Browning. THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches oer the town. As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,And the world threw off the d
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