Classic Poem

THIRD PART .

And sudden on his comrade crew,
Rush'd bands of ruffian sailors;
What once were Britain's generous tars
Were now — degraded jailors.

O! Britain, sure no parent thou,
If thus thy sons are treated;
Thou, that on ocean's proudest car,
By their brave arms art seated!

Repentant, clasp them to thy heart,
With warmth maternal cherish;
Let Power the guilty only grasp,
Let Justice only punish!

Thy fires shall then, with filial force,
On all thy foes be hurl'd;
They'll bid thee, with intrepid front,
Defy an adverse world.

He soon forgot the ruffian gang,
When Britain's foes drew near;
His bosom caught the patriot blaze,
Her every field grew dear.

And when the conflict fierce began,
Her every right defended,
As if on his brave arm alone
Her every claim depended.

Not Blake, who check'd Batavian pride,
On British seas parading;
Nor Russell, when La Hogue beheld —
Her naval Victors leading.

Nor those that with her Hawkes and Howes,
Her sceptred seas contested;
Nor when her welfare and her fame
On Rodney's efforts rested.

Nor yet, when fell infuriate France,
In seas of blood, though wading;
Fled, vanquish'd, when her Nelson fought,
St. Vincent — Duncan — dreading.

Not these, nor Valour's stoutest sons,
In Time's transmitted story,
Enjoy'd their Country's triumph more,
Than Owen — Britain's glory.

Now Peace came down, her healing wings,
O'er warring worlds extended,
And Discord, for a while, at least,
To Death's dark caves descended!

When Britain's warriors left the waves,
Unnumber'd breasts were burning;
Affection, Love, and Hope, and Joy,
To hail her Youth returning.