Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/158
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146
In battle-hurricanes to wield
His lightnings on the billowy field;
And many a look they turn'd
O'er the blue waste of waves, to spy
A Gallic ensign in the sky.
His lightnings on the billowy field;
And many a look they turn'd
O'er the blue waste of waves, to spy
A Gallic ensign in the sky.
But not to crush the vaunting foe,
In combat on the main,
Nor perish by a glorious blow,
In mortal triumph slain,
Was their unutterable fate;
—That story would the Muse relate,
The song might rise in vain;
In Ocean's deepest, darkest bed
The secret slumbers with the dead.
In combat on the main,
Nor perish by a glorious blow,
In mortal triumph slain,
Was their unutterable fate;
—That story would the Muse relate,
The song might rise in vain;
In Ocean's deepest, darkest bed
The secret slumbers with the dead.
On India's long-expecting strand
Their sails were never furl'd;
Never on known or friendly land,
By storms their keel was hurl'd;
Their sails were never furl'd;
Never on known or friendly land,
By storms their keel was hurl'd;