Antistrophe I

But, ah! how sunk her veiled head, Untimely dimm’d by Gaul’s o’ershadowing pow’r— And shalt thou rise, fair isle, no more? Thy patriot heroes sleep among the dead: Thy gallant virtues all are fled; Save Fortitude, sole refuge from despair. O Gaul, Oppression’s blood-stain’d heir, Let me not tell how, taught by thee, England’s rude sons smote Liberty On Vincent’s sable rock, her Indian throne:— Not unavenged; for in her cause the sky Storms and fiery vapours pour’d, While Pestilence waved wide his tainted sword To smite...