Hail, nymph, adored by Britain, hail! ANTISTROPHE. Beyond the measure vast of thought, The works the wizard time has wrought! 65 The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story, Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand,[31] No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary, He pass'd with unwet feet through all our land. To the blown Baltic then, they say, 70 The wild waves found another way, Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise, A wide wild storm even nature's self confounding, Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth surprise. 75 This pillar'd earth so firm and wide, By winds and inward labours torn, In thunders dread was push'd aside, And down the shouldering billows borne. And see, like gems, her laughing train, 80 The little isles on every side, Mona,[32] once hid from those who search the main, Where thousand elfin shapes abide, And Wight who checks the westering tide, For thee consenting heaven has each bestow'd, 85 A fair attendant on her sovereign pride: To thee this blest divorce she owed, For thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last abode! SECOND EPODE. Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile, 'Midst the green navel of our isle, 90 Thy shrine in some religious wood, O soul-enforcing goddess, stood! There oft the painted native's feet Were wont thy form celestial meet: Though now with hopeless toil we trace 95 Time's backward rolls, to find its place; Whether the fiery-tresséd Dane, Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane, Or in what heaven-left age it fell, 'Twere hard for modern song to tell. 100 Yet still, if Truth those beams infuse, Which guide at once, and charm the Muse, Beyond yon braided clouds that lie, Paving the light embroider'd sky, Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains, 105 The beauteous model still remains. There, happier than in islands blest, Or bowers by spring or Hebe drest, The chiefs who fill our Albion's story, In warlike weeds, retired in glory, 110 Hear their consorted Druids sing Their triumphs to the immortal string. How may the poet now unfold What never tongue or numbers told? How learn delighted, and amazed, 115 What hands unknown that fabric raised? Even now before his favour'd eyes, In gothic pride, it seems to rise! Yet Græcia's graceful orders join, Majestic through the mix'd design: 120 The secret builder knew to choose Each sphere-found gem of richest hues; Whate'er heaven's purer mould contains, When nearer suns emblaze its veins;