Seize, O seize the sounding lyre,
With its quivering string!
Strike the chords, in ecstasy,
Whilst loud the valleys ring!
Sing the chief, who, gloriously,
From England=s veteran band,
Pluck=d the wreaths of victory,
To grace his native land!
Where Bridgewater=s war-famed stream
Saw the foemen reel,
Thrice repulsed, with burnish=d gleam
Of bayonet, knife, and steel;
And its crimson=d waters run
Red with gurgling flow,
As Albion=s gathering hosts his arm,
His mighty arm, laid low.
Strike the sounding string of fame,
O lyre! Beat loud, ye drums!
Ye clarion blasts, exalt his name!
Behold the hero comes!
I see Columbia, joyously,
Her palmy circlet throw
Around his high victorious brow
Who laid her foemen low!
Take him, Fame! for thine he is!
On silvery columns, rear
The name of Scott, whence envious Time
Shall ne=er its honors tear!
And thou, O Albion, quake with dread!
Ye veterans shrink, the while,
Whene=er his glorious name shall sound
To shake your sea-girt isle!
