Yet future triumphs, Windsor, still remain;
Still may thy bowers receive as brave a train:
For lo! to Britain and her favour'd pair,
Heaven's high command has sent a sacred heir!
Him, the bold pattern of his patriot sire,
Shall fill with early fame immortal fire:
In life's fresh spring, e'er buds the promis'd prime
His thoughts shall mount to virtue's meed sublime:
The patriot sire shall catch with sure presage
Each liberal omen of his opening age;
Then to thy courts shall lead, with conscious joy,
In stripling beauty's bloom the princely boy;
There firmly wreath the braid of heavenly die,
True Valour's badge around his tender thigh.
Meantime, thy royal piles that rise elate
With many an antique tower, in massy state,
In the young champion's musing mind shall raise
Vast images of Albion's elder days.
While, as around his eager glance explores
Thy chambers rough with war's constructed stores,
Rude helms, and bruised shields, barbaric spoils
Of ancient chivalry's undaunted toils;
Amid the dusky trappings hung on high,
Young Edward's sable mail shall strike his eye:
Shall fire the youth, to crown his riper years
With rival Cressys, and a new Poictiers;
On the same wall, the same triumphal base,
His own victorious monument to place.