POETRY.

QIIIBERON BAY.

(" Petiolate fratres mei omnes propfer /sraa."*)

[The disaster of July 21st, 1795, when more than nine hundred ifinigres (with two thousand soldiers and twelve hundred Cheeses) commanded by the Comte de Sombreml, driven to their last stand at the end of the peninsula of Quiberon, laid down their arms to Roche under an alleged capitulation, was redeemed by the fine heroism Of one of their number. The English fleet which had landed the Royalists lay in the bay, and the corvette 'Lark,' of twenty-four guns, at half cannon-shot from the shore, kept up so fierce a fire upon an exposed strip of beach between them and the Republicans, that it was impossible for the surrender to take effect. A young naval officer and former schoolfellow of Chateaubriand's, Wry or Gesril du Papeu, thereupon swam off to the • Lark' to order her to cease firing, and refusing, as a prisoner on parole, the offer of safety made by her officers, returned to share the fate of his comrades. Many of these had already fallen, a few were picked up by the boats of the English squadron (though the majority were drowned in the attempt to reach it), and some perished by their own hand. The remainder were marched the same afternoon to Aumy, and imprisoned in the church of the Saint-Esprit. Of these some (including Sombreuil) were drafted off to Vannes, and shot, after trial, on the public promenade just outside the walls. The greater number, how- ever, were despatched in batches of fifty and sixty a day at Aunty, on the spot known in consequence as the Champ des Martyrs.]

HERE at Anray is the church

Where we watched the short night through, Hand in hand, in converse low, Just as lovers used to do.

0 my comrade, 0 my friend!'

'Twas the end; Yet I little grieved, nor you.

Here's the column where we' leant,

And that step of Mary's shrine Pillowed for an hour your head- . Tangled locke-still,damp with brine. Up and down this aisle we walked,

As we talked In the glimmering lantern-shine.

All was over—all mistakes,

Jealousies; and aching fears, All heroic-dreams and fond,

And the lilies of long years In the sands of Quiberon Bay • Trampled lay, Blots of dust, and blood, and tears.

Still I see that stretch of shore, Lime-white in the sun of noon, Flying up as English balls Thudded out a deadly tune— Airs that kept the hounds at bay, While the prey Huddled in 'twixt fort and dune. - But we never crossed our steel With chasseur or grenadier; ' Through the saving cannon's roar Drifted faint our kindred's cheer : "Brothers, yield you! we the same Country claim; Not a man will harm you here!"

Promise vainer than the breeze! Crumbling as the sand we trod ! Yet not theirs the butcher's guilt ; Though your blood has cried to God, Comrades, now this twenty year, They are clear : Other names from that red sod Rise, a whispering clamour, when Early sunbeams on the plain Draw, at Atusy, the first mists From the garden of the slain In the fir-trees; or night falls And Vannes walls

Hear the valleys ring again . . . .

So we laid our weapons down, Tokens on our last hope's grave : Happier those who dared the surg.e For an English arm to save ; 'Those who, pierced with Roman steel (Honour's seal), , 111U'er the fatal parole gave.

Inscription from the sarcophagus in the Chapelle sepulchrale at Away.

You were happiest of all, You, to show the soul of France, And the gods were good to you When they shook you such a*ohanoe- Threw a laurel on the sand To your hand For disaster to enhance.

"Stay the English oorvette's fire !"

Half despairing rang the cry ;

"If he lose a single man,

Roche has sworn that we shall die !"

But our signals from the beach Could not reach For the wind and sea wero high.

Then—but all men know the tale, How you ran adown the shore Crying, "I return again !"

Swam the desperate passage o'er, Buffeted by wind and tide Reached her side, Bade the 'Lark' to fire na more.

Were that all, yet fame were yours (Aye, and life, perhaps, to-day). No! you were of mouldloo fine For the half-heroic way, And you shook your head and smiled, Unbeguiled, • When the Englishmen cried "-Stay !"

Dripping on the poop you stood While the smoke-wreaths drifted. slow : "Nay ! on shore my lot is cast, Bound alike to friend and foe.

Which of you his word would break For life's sake ? "

—And the Englishmen said "Go !"

'Twixt the sandhilis and the sea, .

Where the silenced guns had boomed, Where our dead stared on the sky Ere the drowned had sunk entonibzd, There you answered to your name When it game In the roll-call of'the doomed.

High upon the fortress wall Stood- Sombreuil, the young, the brave, Who, in hope to save the rest, Lost himself—and did not save.

Be, a willing captive made, Drew his blade, • Kissed, and to the victor gave.

Gentlemen near fifty score, Flinging too the empty sheath After an inglorious steel, Cursed the bay with_ choking breath : Then, for many a heartsick mile, File on file, Tramped the long, straight road—to death.

I shall see it till I die, And the lights of Auray town; Hear the marching ranks behind, Sobs of women looking down,— See the church's open door Evermore, Portals in my dreams that frown.

. . . In my dreams—but this is life; Mid the gloom I stand again. Shall I breathe a prayer for you, Martyr-comrades; foully slain ?— Rather for myself I- pray, Spared that day, Not of worth to share your pain!

Least of all, I think, for you, Gesril, I presume to pray : Say an Ave then for me Where in heaven you wear the bay, While upon the nameless heap Of your sleep Laurel—never yew—I lay. D. K. BROSTEIL