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Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear, but left the shield.

With evil omens from the harbour sails The ill-fated ship that worthless Arnold bears; God of the southern winds, call up thy gales, And whistle in rude fury round his ears.

O Washington! thrice glorious name, What due rewards can man decree-- Empires are far below thy aim, And scepters have no charms for thee; Virtue alone has your regards, And she must be your great reward.