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the assault. The storm, at full gallop hastens towards them; the hurricane hurries up to their succour! The storm roars! The hurricane thunders! The rows of waves moved forward by more powerful ones! “Death or liberty!” With battle cry, they roll on towards the dark dam.
The glowing waves quiver. More and more quickly roll on the rows of waves. They came up running, they attack the rocks with their breasts—and fall dead. The spray of warm blood, like foam, runs high up the rocks, which are continually bathed in the blood of unconquerable knights. Mother storm sobs: “My children, my own children, you fall the first, still many of you will fall, but to-day we will break the power of the enemy!”
The sea rages. To the place of dead waves new ones hasten away. What woe in them! What power in them! With
