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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;