XXII.
Shout, ye seven hills! Lo! Christian pennons streaming
Red o’er the waters![210] Hail, deliverers, hail!
Along your billowy wake the radiance gleaming,
Is Hope’s own smile! They crowd the swelling sail,
On, with the foam, the sunbeam and the gale,
Borne, as a victor’s car! The batteries pour
Their clouds and thunders; but the rolling veil
Of smoke floats up the exulting winds before!
—And oh! the glorious burst of that bright sea and shore!