Classic Poem

WEEP ! GALLIA, weep! thy crested flow'rs
A deadly crimson shed;
Abash'd by Albion's rosy bowers ,
See! how each hangs its head!

Ah! weep! thy treach'ries now return
Upon thy guilty brow;
Whilst Albion's fame is still upborne
" By all the winds that blow. "

And didst thou deem [mistaken foe]
The seas were all thy own?
Britannia so distress'd and low,
Was to be trampled down?

Old Ocean's early nurtur'd sons,
Maintain the rights she gave;
And far as e'er a billow runs,
Are monarchs of the wave.

Mourn GALLIA! unremedied mourn,
Along thy frighted shores!
By Britons still be scorg'd; — their scorn;
And hark! the lion roars!