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,