And the Christian captive, who Despairing wailed his hapless lot, Felt a gleam of hope light up The darkness of his prison-gloom. For a moment Dragut took Counsel with his captains all: "Shall we wait, or shall we hoist Our sails, and put to sea?" Al arma! al arma! al arma! Cierra! cierra! cierra! Que el enemigo viene a darnos guerra. Then said they all with one accord— "Wait! wait! let them come on! What is the ocean but the field Of pirates' victory?" Then Dragut shouted loud and long— "Up, knaves! up to the fight! Every gunner to his gun! Load and fire, and load again—hurra!" Al arma! al arma! al arma! Cierra! cierra! cierra! Que el enemigo viene a darnos guerra. The refrain of this spirited song—"To arms! to arms! to arms! Danger! danger! danger! for the enemy is coming to attack us"—I have preserved in the original Spanish; it would seem somewhat tame in a translated form. On the 12th of June 1564, Sampiero landed on the shores of this gulf—another note of more peculiar meaning among these warlike echoes of past times. The country rises gradually from the shore into a rugged mountainous region, covered with huge boulders. Rocks, low brush-wood, the sand upon the shore, and a dead marsh, combine to render this part of the island peculiarly wild and bleak. The evergreen oak, however, and the cork-tree, grow here in great numbers; and the rugged soil brings forth corn and wine. At last Sartene met my view, stretching before me—a wide-extended paese—in melancholy isolation, among melancholy rocks and mountains. CHAPTER III. THE TOWN OF SARTENE.