Necessity precedes thee stillWith hard fierce eyes and heavy tramp:Her hand the nails and wedges fill,The molten lead and stubborn clamp.Hope, precious Truth in garb of white,Attend thee still, nor quit thy sideWhen with changed robes thou tak'st thy flightIn anger from the homes of pride.Then the false herd, the faithless fair,Start backward; when the wine runs dry.The jocund guests, too light to bearAn equal yoke, asunder fly.O shield our Caesar as he goesTo furthest Britain, and his band,Rome's harvest! Send on Eastern foesTheir fear, and on the Red Sea strand!