It call’d to food, it call’d to rest,
The many whom the rich man’s dome
Had gathered in its ample breast,
To them and him alike a home.
That very hour, was thund’ring o’er
A neighbouring land, the tramp of War,
Which stalked along the lovely shore,
Its shapes to blast, its sounds to mar.
And ’gainst our own, the reflux wave
Had pushed its harsh in-flooding swell: