Hark! the dire Trumpets sound their shrill Alarms:
, branch'd from the renown'd ,
Hoary in War, and bent beneath his Arms,
His Glorious Sword with Dauntless Courage draws.
When anxious  mourn'd her parting Lord,
And all of  that was Mortal Dy'd;
The faithful Hero had receiv'd This Sword
From His expiring Master's much-lov'd Side.
Oft from it's fatal Ire has  flown,
Where-e'er Great  led, or  and  run.