’Twas your’s to nurse that mighty mind,
Where every Virtue sat enshrin’d.
Your hush’d leaves parted, as the beams[[47]]
Of glory shot, and fir’d his dreams.
You fann’d his patriot bosom’s glow;
You tun’d his harp; you trimm’d his bow.[[48]]
He imag’d in your wolves his foes;
And practis’d Vengeance keener rose.
Your proud oaks lean’d[[49]] to court the hand,
Which England’s conquering navy plann’d.