And twined the wreath round Buonaparte’s brow.

Quick with new lights, fresh hopes, and altered zeal,

The slaves of despots dropp’d the blunted steel:

Exulting Victory owned her favourite child,

And freed Liguria clapp’d her hands, and smiled.

Nor long the time ere Britain’s shores shall greet

The warrior-sage, with gratulation sweet:

Eager to grasp the wreath of naval fame,

The Great Republic plans the Floating Frame!

O’er the huge plane gigantic Terror stalks,