III. All the long afternoon it idly swings and sways; And on the shore the crowd lifts up its hands and prays: Lifts to heaven and wrings the hands so helpless to save, Prays for the mercy of God on him whom the rock and the ways Battle for, fettered betwixt them, and who amidst their strife Straggles to help his helpers, and fights so hard for his life, Tugging at rope and at reef, while men weep and women swoon. Priceless second by second, so wastes the afternoon. And it is sunset now; and another boat and the last Down to him from the bridge through the rapids has safely passed. IV. Wild through the crowd comes flying a man that nothing can stay Maddening against the gate that is locked athwart his way. “No! we keep the bridge for them that can help him. You, Tell us, who are you?” “His brother!” “God help you both! Pass through.” Wild, with wide arms of imploring he calls aloud to him, Unto the face of his brother, scarce seen in the distance dim; But in the roar of the rapids his fluttering words are lost As in a wind of autumn the leaves of autumn are tossed. And from the bridge he sees his brother sever the rope Holding him to the raft, and rise secure in his hope; Sees all as in a dream the terrible pageantry, Populous shores, the woods, the sky, the birds flying free; Sees, then, the form--that, spent with effort and fasting and fear, Flings itself feebly and fails of the boat that is lying so near, Caught in the long-baffled clutch of the rapids, and rolled and hurled Headlong on to the cataract's brink, and out of the world. “O Basil!” said Isabel, with a long sigh breaking the hush that best praised the unknown poet's skill, “it isn't true, is it?” “Every word, almost, even to the brother's coming at the last moment. It's a very well-known incident,” he added, and I am sure the reader whose memory runs back twenty years cannot have forgotten it.