Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/36

10 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, And 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 band, 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.