Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/158
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In battle-hurricanes to wieldHis lightnings on the billowy field;And many a look they turn'dO'er the blue waste of waves, to spyA 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 bedThe secret slumbers with the dead.
On India's long-expecting strandTheir sails were never furl'd;Never on known or friendly land,By storms their keel was hurl'd;