Valiant tho’ vain, tho’ boastful wise--
Marshals, and Dukes!--with skilful eyes
They view the adverse line;
And well their prudent councils weigh
The eventful danger of the day,
Where Britain’s banners shine.
‘What though the Spanish spear we foil,
Poor were the prize, and vain the toil:--
Nothing is done till Britain’s spoil
Attest our victory:
Till, on the wings of terror borne,
The Leopards, scattered and forlorn,
Fly to their guardian sea.
On then!--let _Britain_ prove our might!
_Her’s_ be the trial of the fight,
The peril and the pain!
Press her with growing thousands round,
Dash that red banner to the ground,
And seal the fate of Spain!’