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With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim.
Then let the world combine—
O'er the main our Naval Line
Like the milky way shall shine
Bright in fame!
Though ages long have past
Since our Fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,
O'er untravell'd seas to roam,
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!
And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?
While the language free and bold
Which the Bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told
How the vault of Heaven rung
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;
While this, with rev'rence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast;
