“But, Master Ambroi,” urged Mirèio, “Sing one song, please, because ’twill cheer us so.” “My pretty one,” the weaver said again, “Only the husks of my old voice remain; But if these please you, I cannot say nay,” And drained his goblet, and began straightway:-- I. Our Captain was Bailly Suffren; We had sailed from Toulon, Five hundred sea-faring Provençaux, Stout-hearted and strong: ’Twas the sweet hope of meeting the English that made our hearts burn, And till we had thrashed them we vowed we would never return. II. But all the first month of our cruise We saw never a thing From the shrouds, save hundreds and hundreds Of gulls on the wing; And in the next dolorous month, we’d a tempest to fight, And had to be bailing out water by day and by night. III. By the third, we were driven to madness At meeting no foe For our thundering cannon to sweep From the ocean. When lo! “Hands aloft!” Captain cried. At the maintop one heard the command, And the long Arab coast on the lee-bow intently he scanned. IV. Till, “God’s thunder!” he cried. “Three big vessels Bear down on us strong; Run the guns to the ports! Blaze away!” Shouted Bailly Suffren. “Sharp’s the word, gallant lads! Our figs of Antibes they shall test, And see how they like those,” Captain said, “ere we offer the rest!” V. A crash fit to deafen! Before The words left his lips We had sent forty balls through the hulls Of the Englishers’ ships! One was done for already. And now the guns only heard we, The cracking of wood and perpetual groan of the sea. VI. And now we were closing. Oh, rapture! We lay alongside, Our gallant commander stood cool On the deck, and he cried, “Well done, my brave boys! But enough! Cease your firing, I say, For the time has come now to anoint them with oil of Aix.” VII. Then we sprang to our dirks and our hatchets, As they had been toys; And, grapnel in hand, the Provençal Cried, “Board ’em, my boys!” A shout and a leap, and we stood on the Englishers’ deck; And then, ah, ’twas then we were ready our vengeance to wreak! VIII. Then, oh, the great slaughter! The crash Of the mainmast ensuing! And the blows and the turmoil of men Fighting on ’mid the ruin! More than one wild Provençal I saw seize a foe in his place, And hug till he strained his own life out in deadly embrace.