That bends my quivering mast,—
Bid England's maidens join the song,
I there made orphans last.
"Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me
Oft, oft, by frith and flood,
I called ye forth to feast on kings;
Who now shall give ye food?
Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,
For of earth's proudest lords
We served thee oft a sumptuous feast