XXII.

Shout, ye seven hills! Lo! Christian pennons streaming Red o’er the waters![210] Hail, deliverers, hail! Along your billowy wake the radiance gleaming, Is Hope’s own smile! They crowd the swelling sail, On, with the foam, the sunbeam and the gale, Borne, as a victor’s car! The batteries pour Their clouds and thunders; but the rolling veil Of smoke floats up the exulting winds before! --And oh! the glorious burst of that bright sea and shore!