Has sometimes a veracious augury:
The Rainbow types Heaven’s promise to my sight;
The Ship, Britannia’s interposing Might!
But if there should be none to aid you, Poles,
Ye’ll but to prouder pitch wind up your souls,
Above example, pity, praise or blame,
To sow and reap a boundless field of Fame.
Ask aid no more from Nations that forget
Your championship—old Europe’s mighty debt.
Though Poland (Lazarus-like) has burst the gloom,