That when the Hero of the Nile,
Midst crowds with mournful pomp array’d,
In the cold lap of Earth was laid,
I sympathis’d with Britain’s tear,
And waved the banner o’er his bier.
’Tis I who from the trembling lyre,
Breathe tones of love and soft desire;
’Tis I, the spirit of the shell,
Who fill with notes the listening dell;
And, when the war-trump sounds alarms,