{ Yet not before the goal of honour won,
{ All parts fulfilled of subject and of son:
{ Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
Oh narrow circle, but of power divine,
Scanted in space, and perfect in thy line!
By sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known,
Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own:
Thy force infused the fainting Tyrians[279] prop'd,
And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stop'd.
Oh ancient honour! Oh unconquered hand,