The force, the forethought, were thine own,Thine own the gods. The selfsame dayWhen, port and palace open thrown,Low at thy footstool Egypt lay,That selfsame day, three lustres gone,Another victory to thine handWas given; another field was wonBy grace of Caesar's high command.Thee Spanish tribes, unused to yield,Mede, Indian, Scyth that knows no home,Acknowledge, sword at once and shieldOf Italy and queenly Rome.Ister to thee, and Tanais fleet,And Nile that will not tell his birth,To thee the monstrous seas that beatOn Britain's coast, the end of earth,To thee the proud Iberians bow,And Gauls, that scorn from death to flee;The fierce Sygambrian bends his brow,And drops his arms to worship thee.