X.
And now, our sides riddled with shot,
Once more homeward hie we,
Yards splintered, mast shivered, sails tattered;
But brave Captain Bailly
Spake us words of good cheer. “My comrades, ye have done well!
To the great king of Paris the tale of your valour I’ll tell!”
XI.
“Well said, Captain dear!” we replied:
“Sure the king will hear you
When you speak. But for us, his poor mariners,
What will he do,—
Who left our all gladly, our homes and our firesides,” we said,
“For his sake, and lo! now in those homes there is crying for bread?
XII.
“Ah, Admiral, never forget
When all bow before you,
With a love like the love of your seamen
None will adore you!
Why, say but the word, and, ere homeward our footsteps we turn,
Aloft on the tips of our fingers a king you are borne!”
XIII.
A Martigau, mending his nets
One eve, made this ditty.
Our admiral bade us farewell,
And sought the great city.
Were they wroth with his glory up there at the court? Who can say?
But we saw our beloved commander no more from that day!
A timely ending thus the minstrel made,
Else the fast-coming tears his tale had stayed;
But for the labourers—they sat intent,
Mute all, with parted lips, and forward bent
As if enchanted. Even when he was done,
For a brief space they seemed to hearken on.