When Europe sought your subject-realms to gain,
And stretched her giant sceptre o’er the main,
Taught her proud barks the winding way to shape,
And braved the stormy spirit of the Cape;
Children of Brama! then was Mercy nigh,
To wash the stain of blood’s eternal dye?
Did Peace descend to triumph and to save,
When free-born Britons crossed the Indian wave?
Ah no!—to more than Rome’s ambition true,
The muse of Freedom gave it not to you!