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,