For whose was the genius, that planned at its call,
Where the whirlwind of battle should roll?
All were brave! but the star of success over all
Was the light of our Codrington’s soul.
That star of the day-spring, regenerate Greek!
Dimmed the Saracen’s moon, and struck pallid his cheek;
In its first flushing morning thy Muses shall speak
When their lore and their lutes they reclaim:
And the first of their songs from Parnassus’s peak
Shall be “Glory to Codrington’s name!”