73 Our watchful general had discern’d from far
       This mighty succour, which made glad the foe: 
     He sigh’d, but, like a father of the war,
       His face spake hope, while deep his sorrows flow.

  74 His wounded men he first sends off to shore,
       Never till now unwilling to obey: 
     They, not their wounds, but want of strength deplore,
       And think them happy who with him can stay.

  75 Then to the rest, Rejoice, said he, to-day;
       In you the fortune of Great Britain lies: 
     Among so brave a people, you are they
       Whom Heaven has chose to fight for such a prize.

  76 If number English courages could quell,
       We should at first have shunn’d, not met, our foes,
     Whose numerous sails the fearful only tell: 
       Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.

  77 He said, nor needed more to say:  with haste
       To their known stations cheerfully they go;
     And all at once, disdaining to be last,
       Solicit every gale to meet the foe.

  78 Nor did the encouraged Belgians long delay,
       But bold in others, not themselves, they stood: 
     So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way,
       But seem’d to wander in a moving wood.

  79 Our little fleet was now engaged so far,
       That, like the sword-fish in the whale, they fought: 
     The combat only seem’d a civil war,
       Till through their bowels we our passage wrought.

  80 Never had valour, no not ours, before
       Done aught like this upon the land or main,
     Where not to be o’ercome was to do more
       Than all the conquests former kings did gain.

  81 The mighty ghosts of our great Harries rose,
       And armed Edwards look’d with anxious eyes,
     To see this fleet among unequal foes,
       By which fate promised them their Charles should rise.

  82 Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear,
       And raking chase-guns through our sterns they send: 
     Close by their fire ships, like jackals appear
       Who on their lions for the prey attend.

  83 Silent in smoke of cannon they come on: 
       Such vapours once did fiery Cacus[42] hide: 
     In these the height of pleased revenge is shown,
       Who burn contented by another’s side.

  84 Sometimes from fighting squadrons of each fleet,
       Deceived themselves, or to preserve some friend,
     Two grappling AEtnas on the ocean meet,
       And English fires with Belgian flames contend.

  85 Now at each tack our little fleet grows less;
       And like maim’d fowl, swim lagging on the main: 
     Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess,
       While they lose cheaper than the English gain.

  86 Have you not seen, when, whistled from the fist,
       Some falcon stoops at what her eye design’d,
     And, with her eagerness the quarry miss’d,
       Straight flies at check, and clips it down the wind.