Classic Poem

ON THE THREATENED INVASION OF HIS COUNTRY

WRITTEN IN THE SPRING OF 1798.

When Rome's proud legions sought the Albion shore,
To give insatiate pow'r one trophy more,
The hardy Britons scorn'd to basely fly,
Determin'd to repel the foe, or die,
Their bodies form'd the bulwark of their coast,
And Caesar's triumph was an empty boast!
The world's great master then this truth confess'd,
That arms are vain to subjugate the breast!
When the poor natives of a barren land,
Could check the eagle in a Roman's hand.
In after ages, when Eliza's throne
Was prop'd by England's courage, and her own,
The gloomy Philip forg'd his galling chain,
And cover'd, with his hostile fleet, the main:
Secure in numbers, confident in pow'r,
The tyrant brooded o'er the approaching hour,
When England, crush'd beneath his conqu'ring sword,
Should lose that freedom which his soul abhorr'd:
But vain the vast Armada's countless host!
His vanquish'd legions, wreck'd upon our coast,
This lesson learn'd upon the roaring waves,
That Britons never, never, will be slaves!
Let France, who envies us because we're free,
Tempt, with her boasted Rafts , the stormy sea;
No friends in Britain's Isle our foes would meet,
Should they escape the thunder of our fleet:
All party diff'rence would, at once, be o'er,
Soon as a hostile Frenchman trod the shore;
Then ev'ry jarring int'rest would unite,
And none dispute but who should foremost fight!
Then should these frantic, bold invaders feel
How sharp, on British ground, is British steel!
And Gallia's sons, who scap'd the whelming wave,
In England only land, to find a grave.
But should a native take the invader's part,
Eternal curses blast the traitor's heart!
Expose it bare to everlasting shame,
And deathless infamy record his name!
Where ever tide can waft, or wind can blow,
Our gallant navy triumphs o'er the foe:
His ports block'd up, his fleets in ruin hurl'd,
Prove Britain mistress of the wat'ry world!
Though trembling nations prostrate round her fall,
Crush'd by the pow'r of wide destroying Gaul;
Though Europe suffers, to her foul disgrace,
This second inroad of the Vandal race;
Still our triumphant trident rules the sea,
And Britons are, and ever will be, free!