FAME'S favourite minion! The theme of her story; How quail'd is thy pinion, How sullied its glory: Where blood flow'd like water, Exulting it bore thee! Destruction and slaughter Behind and before thee. Where glory was blushing, Thy flight was the fleetest; Where death's sleep was hushing, Thy slumber was sweetest. When broad-swords were clashing Thy cry was the loudest; When deep they were gashing, Thy plume was the proudest. But, triumph is over: No longer victorious, No more shalt thou hover, Destructively glorious! Far from the battle's shock, Fate hath fast bound thee; Chain'd to the rugged rock, Waves warring round thee. Instead of the trumpet's sound, Sea-birds are shrieking: Hoarse on thy rampart's bound, Billows are breaking. The standards which led thee Are trampled and torn now; The flatteries which fed thee, Are turn'd into scorn now. For ensigns unfurling, Like sunbeams in brightness; Are crested waves curling, Like snow-wreaths in whiteness. No sycophants mock thee With dreams of dominion; But rude tempests rock thee, And ruffle thy pinion. Thy last flight is taken, Hope leaves thee forever; And victory shall waken Thy proud spirit never! |