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Stirred up, like her husband, by the song of war, Meroë repeated with him, seeming to defy Caesar, whose tent they discerned in the distance: "Tor-e-benn! Tor-e-benn! Tor-e-benn!" Still the bark of Albinik and Meroë played with the rocks and surges of those dangerous roads, sometimes drawing off shore, sometimes in.
In his anger, he rang out, for answer, the war song of the Breton seamen, as if the wind could carry his words of defiance and death to Caesar where he stood on the bank: Tor-e-benn! Tor-e-benn! As I was lying in my vessel I heard The sea-eagle calling, in the dead of night. He called his eaglets and all the birds of the shore. He said to them as he called: 'Arise ye, all come come.
'The heart of the Roman leader I hold I am devouring it. And you, sea-serpent, what are you doing there, Coiled 'round that neck, your flat head so close To that mouth, already cold and blue? 'To hear the soul of the Roman leader Take its departure am I here! Tor-e-benn! Tor-e-benn!"
It is no longer the putrid flesh of the dog or sheep we must have It is Roman flesh. "Tor-e-benn! Tor-e-benn! Old sea-raven, tell me, what have you there? The head of the Roman leader I clutch; I want his eyes his two red eyes! And you, sea-wolf, what have you there?
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