Where’er thy smile its magic power bestows, There arts and taste expand, there fancy glows; The sacred lyre its wild enchantment gives, And every chord to swelling transport lives; There ardent Genius bids the pencil trace The soul of beauty, and the lines of grace; With bold Promethean hand, the canvass warms, And calls from stone expression’s breathing forms. Thus, where the fruitful Nile o’erflows its bound, Its genial waves diffuse abundance round, Bid Ceres laugh o’er waste and sterile sands, And rich profusion clothe deserted lands. Immortal Freedom! daughter of the skies! To thee shall Britain’s grateful incense rise. Ne’er, goddess! ne’er forsake thy favourite isle, Still be thy Albion brighten’d with thy smile! Long had thy spirit slept in dead repose, While proudly triumph’d thine insulting foes; Yet, though a cloud may veil Apollo’s light, Soon, with celestial beam, he breaks to sight: Once more we see thy kindling soul return, Thy vestal-flame with added radiance burn; Lo! in Iberian hearts thine ardour lives, Lo! in Iberian hearts thy spark revives! Proceed, proceed, ye firm undaunted band! Still sure to conquer, if combined ye stand. Though myriads flashing in the eye of day Stream’d o’er the smiling land in long array, Though tyrant Asia pour’d unnumber’d foes, Triumphant still the arm of Greece arose;-- For every state in sacred union stood, Strong to repel invasion’s whelming flood; Each heart was glowing in the general cause, Each hand prepared to guard their hallow’d laws; Athenian valour join’d Laconia’s might, And but contended to be first in fight; From rank to rank the warm contagion ran, And Hope and Freedom led the flaming van. Then Persia’s monarch mourn’d his glories lost, As wild confusion wing’d his flying host; Then Attic bards the hymn of victory sung, The Grecian harp to notes exulting rung! Then Sculpture bade the Parian stone record The high achievements of the conquering sword. Thus, brave Castilians! thus may bright renown And fair success your valiant efforts crown!