Of all the host that once had sailed to take their northern way.
And, ah! how changed the gallant fleet, how changed the ragged forms
Alike of ships and men, sore marred by cruel seas and storms!
All splintered were the masts and yards, the bowsprits shot away,
The sails to ribbons torn, the men all fevered, gaunt and gray!
But in old England swells the sound of mirth and joy and praise,
By day triumphal banners wave, by night the bonfires blaze,
The church-bells’ merry carillon, the cannon’s harmless roar,
Are echoed loud from shire to shire, resound from shore to shore.
At Whitehall now the Virgin Queen, on the appointed day,