And well with conscious joy thy breast might beat,
That Albion was ordain'd thy regal seat:
Lo! this the land where Freedom's sacred rage
Has glow'd untam'd, thro' many a martial age.
Here patriot Alfred, stain'd with Danish blood,
Rear'd on one base the king's, the people's good:
Here Henry's archers fram'd the stubborn bow
That laid Alanzon's haughty helmet low;
Here wak'd the flame that still superior braves
The proudest threats of Gaul's ambitious slaves:
Here chivalry, stern school of valour old,
Her noblest feats of knightly fame enroll'd;
Heroic champions heard the clarion's call,
And throng'd the board in Edward's banner'd hall;
While chiefs, like George, approv'd in worth alone,
Unlock'd chaste beauty's adamantine zone.
Lo! the fam'd isle, which hails thy chosen sway,
What fertile fields her temperate suns display;
Where Property secures the conscious swain,
And guards, while Plenty gives, the golden grain:
Hence ripe with stores her villages abound,
Her airy downs with scatter'd sheep resound;
Fresh are her pastures with unceasing rills,
And future navies crown her darksome hills.
To bear her formidable glory far,
Behold her opulence of hoarded war!
See, from her ports a thousand banners stream,
On every coast her vengeful lightnings gleam!
Meantime, remote from Ruin's armed hand,
In peaceful majesty her cities stand;
Whose splendid domes, and tradeful streets declare,
Their firmest fort, a king's parental care.