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A brave band, truly: But still our gallant emp'ror and his friends, Oppos'd to Mah'met and his num'rous host With all his warlike engines, are in truth As if one toss'd against the whirl'd-up sands Of their Arabian plains, one grasp of dust.

Yes, they are few in number, but they are The essence and true spirit of their kind; The soul of thousands. A brave band they are, Not levied by the power and wealth of states; And the best feelings of the human heart Have been the agents of their princely chief, Recruiting nobly. Virtuous Sympathy, Who on the weaker and deserted side His ample, lib'ral front doth ever range; Keen Indignation, who, with clenched hand And sternly-flashing eye, ever beholds The high o'erbearing crest of proud oppression; And gen'rous Admiration, above all, Of noble deeds, whose heav'n-enlighten'd smile, And imitative motion, ever wake With eager heart-throbs at the glorious sight Of manly daring, have unto their numbers Some score of dauntless spirits lately added; Such as would ride upon the whirlwind's back, If it might be, and with Heaven's spearmen cope.