Our hapless sons and weeping daughters claim?
Shall we—O blind!—still aid the ruffian band,
That stains our coast, and bares our wretched land?
Our realms, alas! abandon'd to despair,
Supinely sunk, the slavish shackles wear:
Surges in vain defend the burning strand;
In vain impervious forests fence the land.
Our native monsters treach'rous tameness shew,
Forget their fury, and admit the foe;
Our rebel crocodiles their fierceness lose,