How they follow in a flock.
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
Not a spar that comes to grief!
The peril, see, is past,
All are harboured to the last,
And just as Hervé Riel hollas ‘Anchor!’—sure as fate,
Up the English come, too late.”
So all are saved, and the crews see longingly the green heights above Grève, all bursting out, with one accord—
“‘Let France, let France’s King
Thank the man that did the thing!’