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,