Across red Thames’s gleaming tide,
To distant fields, the blaze was borne,
And daisy white and hoary thorn
In borrow’d lustre seem’d to sham
The rose or red sweet Wil-li-am.
To those who on the hills around
Beheld the flames from Drury’s mound.
As from a lofty altar rise,
It seem’d that nations did conspire
To offer to the god of fire