Hail Sacred  hail long-expected Days,
Which  Glory to the Stars shall raise!
Tho'  Streams immortal  behold,
Tho' foaming  swells with Tydes of Gold,
From Heav'n it self tho' sev'nfold  flows,
And Harvests on a hundred Realms bestows;
These now no more shall be the Muse's Themes,
Lost in my Fame, as in the Sea their Streams.
Let  Banks with Iron Squadrons shine,
And Groves of Lances glitter on the
Let barb'rous  arm a servile Train;
Be mine the Blessings of a peaceful Reign.
No more my Sons shall dye with  Blood
Red  Sands, or  foaming Flood;
Safe on my Shore each unmolested Swain
Shall tend the Flocks, or reap the bearded Grain;
The shady Empire shall retain no Trace
Of War or Blood, but in the Sylvan Chace,
The Trumpets sleep, while chearful Horns are blown,
And Arms employ'd on Birds and Beasts alone.
Behold! th' ascending  on my Side
Project long Shadows o'er the Chrystal Tyde.
Behold!  glitt'ring Spires increase,
And Temples rise, the beauteous Works of Peace.
I see, I see where two fair Cities bend
Their ample Bow, a new  ascend!
There mighty Nations shall inquire their Doom,
The World's great Oracle in Times to come;
There Kings shall sue, and suppliant States be seen
Once more to bend before a  QUEEN.