Forthwith, when Morvan Lez-Breiz saw

His Moorish foe lie dead,
His foot he placed upon his breast,
And straight cut off his head.
He hung it by the grisly beard
His saddle-bow unto;

And, for its stains of Moorish blood,
His sword away he threw.

Upon his good steed then he sprang,
He sprang without delay,

And, followed by his page, went forth
Upon his homeward way.
When home, he hung aloft,
Upon his gateway high,

The hideous head with grinning teeth
In sight of passers-by.

Far from his home was he.

Open to me, holy hermit,

Open unto me thy door;
Here a place of refuge seeking,
Let me lie upon thy floor.

"Icy cold the wind is blowing

From the bitter Frankish land; From the sea it blows, ice-laden: Bid me not without to stand.

"'Tis the hour when flocks are folded, Cat:le herded in the stall:

E'en wild beasts and savage creatures Cease to wander, sheltered all."

"Who comes thus at midnight, seeking
Entrance at my lonely door?"
"One to Brittany, his country,

Known full well in dangers sore;
In her day of anguish, Lez-Breiz,
Armor's Help, the name I bore."
"Nay, my door I will not open;
A seditious one are you,
Who against the Lord's anointed
Oft have earned a rebel's due."

"I seditious? Heaven is witness
None am I of rebel crew.
Whoso dares to call me traitor,
He the slander well shall rue.
Cursed be the Frankish people,

Cursed their king, and traitors, too!

"Yes; the Franks are coward traitors!
Else the victory were mine."
"Man, beware! nor friend nor foeman
Curse thou: 'tis no right of thine.

"And the king, the Lord's anointed,
Least of all be curst by thee."
"Say you so? Nay rather, soothly,
Satan's own anointed he:
Brittany by Heaven's anointed
Devastated ne'er would be.

"Daily, at the hour of noontide,

Fasting, you must wend your way
Up to yonder mountain summit:
There a little stream doth play.
From that little mountain streamlet,
Water you must bear away."
"Holy hermit, only say

What your will, and I obey."

When the seven years were ended,
Bared his heels were to the bone,
Where the leaden cloak had worn them;
Long and grey his hair had grown.

Grey his beard flowed o'er his girdle;
Any who his form had seen

Had a hoary oak-tree thought him,
Which for sev'n years dead had been.
None who Lez-Breiz met had known him,
Altered thus in face and mien.

One there was alone who knew him
Through the wood a lady bright,
Through the greenwood swiftly passing,
Clad in garb of purest white,
Stayed her steps and wept, beholding
Lez-Breiz in so piteous plight.

"Is it thou, my dear son Lez-Breiz?
Lez-Breiz, is it thou indeed?
Come, my child, that I may free thee
From thy burden sore, with speed.

"Let me with my golden scissors
Sever this thy heavy chain.
I thy mother, Anne of Armor,
Come to end thy lengthened pain."

II.

A month and seven years had flown, When Lez-Breiz' faithful squire Throughout the land his master sought, With love that cannot tire.

And as he rode by Helléan's wood,
He to himself did sigh:

"Though I have slain his murderer, yet My dear lord lost have I."

Then to him from the forest came
A wild and plaintive neigh,
Whereat his horse, with answering cry,
Snuffing the wind, his head thrown high,
Sped, with a bound, away.

Away they sped the greenwood through,
Until they reached the spot

Where the black steed of Lez-Breiz stood, But them he heeded not.

The charger stood the fountain by,

He neither drank nor fed.

But with his hoofs he tore the ground,
With sad and downcast head;
Then raised it, neighing dismally,
He wept, so some men said.

"Tell me, O venerable sire,

Who to the fountain come, Who is it that beneath this mound Sleeps in his narrow home?"

"Lez-Breiz it is who lies at rest,

Here in this lonely spot. Famed will he be through Brittany Till Brittany is not.

He with a shout shall wake one early day,*
And chase the hated Frankish hosts away."

Of the two warriors mentioned in the poem, the first is unknown except under the opprobrious epithet of "Lorgnez," or "the leper." The "Moor of the King" appears to have been one of those whom Louis took captive, after having conquered the city of Barcelona, and retained in his service. With regard to the avenging of his master's death by the esquire, tradition relates that, at the moment when a Frankish warrior named Cosl struck off the Breton's head, the esquire of Morvan pierced his back with a mortal wound. According to Ermold Nigel, a Frankish monk who accompanied the army of Louis, the head of Morvan was carried to the monk Witchar, who, when he had washed away the blood and combed the hair, recognized the features to be those of LezBreiz. He also relates that the body was carried away by the Franks, and that Louis le Débonnaire thought proper himself to arrange the ceremonies for its sepulture, doubtless with the intent to guard his tomb from the rebellious piety of the Bretons. The popular belief declared, as it has done with regard to other heroes, and in other lands, that from his unknown grave he should one day

Nomenöe, one of the most astute as well as determined of the Breton kings, after deceiving Charles le Chauve for some time by a feigned submission, suddenly threw off the mask, drove the Franks beyond the Oust and Vilaine, seized the cities of Nantes and Rennes-which have ever since formed a part of Brittany

and delivered his countrymen from the tribute which they had been compelled to pay to the French king. M. Augustin Thierry considers the following description of the event which occasioned the deliverance of Brittany to be " a poem of remarkable beauty, full of allusions to manners of a remote epoch, . . . and a vividly symbolical picture of the prolonged inaction and the sudden awakening of the patriot prince when he judged the right moment to have come."

The fierce exultation of the poet when the head of the Intendant is swept off to complete the lacking weight, recalls the words of Lez-Breiz not many years before: "Can I but see this Frankish king, he shall have what he asks. I will pay tribute with my sword!"

"Si fortuna daret possim quo cernere regem, Proque tributali hæc ferrea dona dedissem."*

THE TRIBUTE OF NOMENÖE. (DROUK-KINNIG NEUMENOIOU), A.D. 841.

Forthwith in steam like clouds drives o'er the plain.

Argad! To war!

1.

Spake the great chief: "From the heights of the mountains of Arez,

Mildew and mist for the space of three weeks

have passed o'er us,

Mildew and mist from the land that lies over the mountains:

"Still from the land of the Franks, more and

more, thickly driving,

So that in no wise my eyes can behold him returning,

* Ermold Nigel.

This mystical plant was only to be plucked by the hand if cut with any blade of steel, misfortune of some kind was always supposed to follow.

E'en as he spake, his lord came riding through the portal strong,

Returning from the chase, his fierce hounds scouring swift along;

His bow he carried in his hand, and o'er his shoulder slung

A wild boar of the forest, huge, all dead and bleeding, hung.

"Good-day to you, brave mountaincers, and father, first to thee.

What tidings bring you, or what is it you would ask of me?"

"We come to learn if Justice lives-if God in heaven there be :

We come to learn if still there is a chief in Brittany."

"Sure, I believe that God in heaven ever dwells

"Descend, O chief! my lord, descend, in, I pray;

Enter the castle, and command your here to stay.

And in the hands of your esquires yo steed leave below,

While you ascend to supper; but would wash, I trow: Hark! even now to horn the water cornets blow."

"All in good time, my lord, I wash: b tribute weighed."

The first sack brought they, well tie weight in full it made.

*Ablutions were anciently made 1 repast at the sound of a horn; thus "k dour"-to horn the water.

KOCHE, the subject of this memoir, was born on the remote island of Chatham, in the Southern Pacific Ocean. Forced by a cruel servitude to fly from his native island, he passed many years in absolute solitude on the little uninhabited island of Pitt, lying some miles distant from Chatham. Here he reigned undisputed master of the land and all it contained: whence the title of "King of Pitt " among those who knew him. His account of his native island and its inhabitants, together with his own adventures, show him to have been a man of an undaunted spirit, which no adverse fortune could bend, much, less break; and had he been known to Carlyle, would have been placed by him among his heroes for worship and imitation; but, unluckily, Carlyle never heard of him.

It is well, in order to understand the life and adventures of Koche, "King of Pitt," to relate the history of the country and people from which he sprang, before going into the details of his career.

Ware-kauri, one of the South Sea
VOL. XVII.-35

islands, called by the English, Chatham, lies several hundred miles to the eastward of New Zealand. Its history up to the year 1791 rests. upon tradition, as prior to that dateits inhabitants had not acquired, among their many accomplishments, the art of letters. Koche himself,. from whose mouth this narrative has been taken, says that his people were from the earliest period inclined to peaceful pursuits, and subsisted chiefly upon fish and seal; that they enjoyed a democracy, and conducted their simple affairs by a council of notable men. He did not hesitate, however, to acknowledge that when at long intervals, covering a generation, a high and prolonged west wind drove a canoe-load of New Zealanders upon their shores,. they forthwith and without ceremony slew them. But he justified this departure from their ordinary habits on the ground of public policy; as, had they received them in charity, and pursued the peaceful tenor of their way, their involuntary visitors would have ended by slay