Thee, oft the murd’rous band implores,
Swift darting on its hapless prey:
Thee, wafted from fierce Afric’s shores,
The Corsair Chief invokes to speed him on his way.
Thee, the wild Indian Tribes revere;
Thy charms the roving Arab owns;
Thee, kings, thee tranquil nations fear,
The bane of social bliss, the foe to peaceful thrones.
For, soon as thy loud trumpet calls
To deadly rage, to fierce alarms,