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The ſpirit of your fathers
ſhall ſtart from ev'ry wave,
For the deck it was their field of fame,
the ocean was their grave;
Where Blake the boaſt of fredom fought,
your manly hearts ſhall glow,
As ye ſweep o'er the deep,
while the ſtormy tempeſts blow.
While the battle rages, &c.
Britannia needs no bulwark,
no t w'r(illegible text) along the ſteep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-wave,
her home is on the deep:
With thunder from her native oak,
ſhe quells the floods below,
Lide the roar on the ſhore,
when the ſtormy tempeſts blow.
The meteor Flag of England
ſhall yet terrific burn!
Till danger's troubled night depart,
and the Star of Peace return;
Then, then ye ocean-warriors,
our ſong and feaſt ſhall flow
