From yonder Southern sea, oh, bring thy trophies home,
Bring Scio’s trophies home,—those trophies still shall be
Thy glory, Orlóv! Thine the records of thy deeds,
When future valour reads
Astrea’s victory!
Oh, could my wakened Muse a worthy offering bring!
Oh, could my grateful lyre a song of glory sing!
Oh, could I steal from thee the high and towering thought,
With thy proud name the world, the listening world I’d fill!
And Camoens’ harp be still,