From Cape la Hogue to Ushant, from Rochefort to
Belleisle, She hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on
her keel.
The fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with
melting tar, The lad up in the foretop sees square white sails
afar: The east wind drives three square-sailed masts from
out the Breton bay, And 'Clear for action!' Farmer shouts, and reefers
yell 'Hooray!'
The Frenchman's captain had a name I wish I could
pronounce; A Breton gentleman was he, and wholly free from
bounce,
One like those famous fellows who died by guillotine For honour and the fleurs-dc-lys and Antoinette the
Queen.
The Catholic for Louis, the Protestant for George, Kach captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths
could forge; And both were simple seamen, but both could
understand How each was bound to win or die for flag and
native land.
The French ship was la Surveillante, which means
the watchful maid ; She folded up her head-dress and began to cannonade.
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