Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads

Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads. Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres. He, who in concert with an earthly string Of Britain's acts would sing,

He with enraptured voice will tell Of One whose spirit no reverse coul quell;

Of One that 'mid the failing never failed Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed

Shall represent her labouring with an eye Of circumspect humanity;

Shall show her clothed with strength and skill,

All martial duties to fulfil; Firm as a rock in stationary fight; In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam; Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at midnight To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream

Woe, woe to all that face her in the field! Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield

IMAGINATION - ne'er before content, But aye ascending, restless in her pride From all that martial feats could yield To her desires, or to her hopes presentStooped to the Victory, on that Belgic field Achieved, this closing deed magnificent, And with the embrace was satisfied. - Fly, ministers of Fame, With every help that ye from earth an heaven may claim!

Bear through the world these tidings of de light!

- Hours, Days, and Months, have borte them in the sight

Of mortals, hurrying like a sudden shower That landward stretches from the sea

The morning's splendours to devour; But this swift travel scorns the company