She, who treads the surgy sea
In her stayless majesty,
Curbs each wild (erratic) wave.
When Atlantic tempests rave!
Speaks—the maddened storms increase—
Speaks again—and all is peace.
'Tis her breath's propitious gale
Swells the weather-beaten sail,
Wafts the crew from Britain o'er,
Unto India's spicy shore.