Thine are the dauntless bands, like Spartans brave, Bold in the field, triumphant on the wave; In classic elegance and arts divine, To rival Athens’ fairest palm is thine; For taste and fancy from Hymettus fly, And richer bloom beneath thy varying sky, Where Science mounts in radiant car sublime To other worlds beyond the sphere of time! Hail, Albion, hail! to thee has fate denied Peruvian mines and rich Hindostan’s pride, The gems that Ormuz and Golconda boast, And all the wealth of Montezuma’s coast: For thee no Parian marbles brightly shine, No glowing suns mature the blushing vine; No light Arabian gales their wings expand, To waft Sabæan incense o’er the land; No graceful cedars crown thy lofty hills, No trickling myrrh for thee its balm distils; Not from thy trees the lucid amber flows, And far from thee the scented cassia blows: Yet fearless Commerce, pillar of thy throne, Makes all the wealth of foreign climes thy own; From Lapland’s shore to Afric’s fervid reign, She bids thy ensigns float above the main; Unfurls her streamers to the favouring gale, And shows to other worlds her daring sail: Then wafts their gold, their varied stores to thee, Queen of the trident! empress of the sea! For this thy noble sons have spread alarms, And bade the zones resound with Britain’s arms! Calpè’s proud rock, and Syria’s palmy shore, Have heard and trembled at their battle’s roar; The sacred waves of fertilising Nile Have seen the triumphs of the conquering isle; For this, for this, the Samiel-blast of war Has roll’d o’er Vincent’s cape and Trafalgar! Victorious Rodney spread thy thunder’s sound, And Nelson fell, with fame immortal crown’d-- Blest if their perils and their blood could gain, To grace thy hand, the sceptre of the main! The milder emblems of the virtues calm-- The poet’s verdant bay, the sage’s palm-- These in thy laurel’s blooming foliage twine, And round thy brows a deathless wreath combine: Not Mincio’s banks, nor Meles’ classic tide, Are hallow’d more than Avon’s haunted side; Nor is thy Thames a less inspiring theme Than pure Ilissus, or than Tiber’s stream. Bright in the annals of th’ impartial page, Britannia’s heroes live from age to age! From ancient days, when dwelt her savage race, Her painted natives, foremost in the chase, Free from all cares for luxury or gain, Lords of the wood and monarchs of the plain; To these Augustan days, when social arts Refine and meliorate her manly hearts; From doubtful Arthur--hero of romance, King of the circled board, the spear, the lance-- To those whose recent trophies grace her shield, The gallant victors of Vimeira’s field; Still have her warriors borne th’ unfading crown And made the British flag the ensign of renown.