The lot, that always on the road
⁠Of docile laurels borne,
Success should fly their steps before,
And in their hands events in store
⁠Should lose each cruel thorn.

As heroes these the vulgar choose,
If not as gods, but I refuse
⁠Such homage for the mind;
And in Bellona's doubtful strife,
Where fortune's angry frowns are rife,
⁠There heroes seek to find.

O! true of heart, and brave as true!
Illustrious Clio, turn thy view
⁠Afar the vast seas o'er;
For deeds, in spite of fate abhorr'd,
Than these more worthy to record
⁠Ne'er pass'd thy view before.

To abase the wealthy Gades, see,
From haunts of deep obscurity,
⁠The fellest Fury rise!
And from her direful hand launched forth,
Transform'd the forests of the North,
⁠She floating walls supplies.