Why should I tell what smile of Vict’ry beamed,
When Rhine’s fair wave with Belgic slaughter gleamed;
When humbled waters tow’rds the sea it sped,
Mad that its mouths with native blood were red,
While England’s thunders rolled above its rocky bed?
I see afar the domes that crown the tide,
Where Thames uncounted sails in triumph glide:
Here, the brave souls whom manly courage drove
Through the deep’s perils in a holy love
Of country, find in thy maternal breast