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And neigh amidſt the thunder of the war,
As virtue to oppoſe her ſwelling breaſt
Like a firm ſhield againſt the darts of fate.
And when her ſons in that rough ſchool have learn'd
To ſmile at danger, then the hand that rais'd
Shall huſh the ſtorm, and lead the ſhining train
Of peaceful years in bright proceſſion on.
Then ſhall the ſhepherd's pipe, the muſe's lyre,
On Cyrnus' ſhores be heard: her grateful ſons
With loud acclaim and hymns of cordial praiſe
Shall hail their high deliverers; every name
To virtue dear be from oblivion ſnatch'd,
And plac'd among the ſtars: but chiefly thine,
Thine, Paoli, with ſweeteſt ſound ſhall dwell
On their applauding lips; thy ſacred name,
Endear'd to long poſterity, ſome Muſe,
More worthy of the theme, ſhall conſecrate
To after-ages, and applauding worlds
Shall bleſs the godlike man who ſav'd his country.

So