For this, for this, the Samiel-blast of war
Has roll’d o’er Vincent’s cape and Trafalgar!
Victorious Rodney spread thy thunder’s sound,
And Nelson fell, with fame immortal crown’d—
Blest if their perils and their blood could gain,
To grace thy hand, the sceptre of the main!
The milder emblems of the virtues calm—
The poet’s verdant bay, the sage’s palm—
These in thy laurel’s blooming foliage twine,
And round thy brows a deathless wreath combine: