At length thou comest; America salutes Her benefactor, and at once her veins The destined balm to purify deputes. A further generous ardour then regains Thy breast; and thou, obedient to the hand Divine that leads thee, turn’st the sounding prow Where Ganges rolls, and every Eastern land The gift may take. The Southern Ocean now Astonished sees thee, o’er her mighty breast Untiring passing. Luzon thee admires, Good always sowing on thy road impress’d: And as it China’s toilsome shore acquires, Confucius from his tomb of honour’d fame, If could his venerable form arise, To see it in glad wonder might exclaim, “’Twas worthy of my virtue, this emprise!” Right worthy was it of thee, mighty sage! Worthy of that divine and highest light, Which reason and which virtue erst array’d To shine in happier days, now quench’d in night. Thou, Balmis! never mayst return; nor grows In Europe now the sacred laurel meet With which to crown thee. There in calm repose, Where peace and independence a retreat May find, there rest thee! where thou mayst receive At length the august reward of deeds so blest. Nations immense shall come for thee to grieve, Raising in grateful hymns to Heaven address’d Thy name with fervorous zeal. And though now laid In the cold tomb’s dark precincts thou refuse To hear them, listen to them thus convey’d At least, as in the accents of my Muse. ON THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR. Not with an easy hand wills Fate to give Nations, or heroes, power and renown: Triumphant Rome, whose empire to receive A hemisphere submissively bow’d down, Yielding itself in silent servitude, How often did she vanquish’d groan? repell’d As she her course of loftiness pursued! Her ground to Hannibal she scarcely held; Italian blood of Trevia the sands, And wavy Thrasymenus deeply dyed, And Roman matrons the victorious bands Of Cannæ nigh approaching them descried, As some portentous comet fearful lower. Who drove them thence? Who from the Capitol Turn’d on the throne, that founded Dido’s power, The clouds that threaten’d then o’er them to roll? Who in the fields of Zama, from the yoke They fear’d, with direful slaughter to set free, At length the sceptre of great Carthage broke, With which she held her sovereignty, the sea?