Yes. Britons scorn the councils of the skies,
Extend wide havoc, spurn the insulted foes;
The insulted foes to ten-fold vengeance rise,
Resistance growing as the danger grows.
Red in their wounds, and pointing to the plain,
The visionary shapes before me stand;
The thunder bursts, the battle burns again,
And kindling fires encrimson all the strand.
Long, dusky wreaths of smoke, reluctant driven,