How long shall tyrant power her throne maintain?
How long shall despots and usurpers reign?
Is honor's lofty soul for ever fled?

Is virtue lost? is martial ardor dead?

Is there no heart where worth and valor dwell,
No patriot WALLACE, no undaunted TELL?
Yes, Freedom, yes! thy sons, a noble band,
Around thy banner, firm, exulting stand
Once more, 'tis thine, invincible, to wield
The beamy spear and adamantine shield!
Again thy cheek with proud resentment glows,
Again thy lion-glace appals thy foes;

Thy kindling eye-beam darts unconquer'd fires
Thy look sublime the warrior's heart inspires;
And, while to guard thy standard and thy right
Castilians rush, intrepid, to the fight,

Lo! Britain's gen'rous host their aid supply,
Resolved for thee to triumph or to die!
And Glory smiles to see Iberia's name
Enroll'd with Albion's in the book of fame!

Illustrious names! still, still united beam,
Be still the hero's boast, the poet's theme:
So, when two radiant gems together shine,
And in one wreath their lucid light combine
Each, as it sparkles with transcendant rays,
Adds to the lustre of its kindred blaze.

Descend, oh Genius! from thy orb descend
Thy glowing thought, thy kindling spirit lend
As Memnon's harp (so ancient fables say)
With sweet vibration meets the morning ray,
So let the chords thy heavenly presence own,
And swell a louder note, a nobler tone;
Call from the sun, her burning throne on hign,
The seraph Ecstasy, with lightning eye;
Steal from the source of day empyreal fire,
And breath the soul of rapture o'er the lyre !

Hail, Albion! hail, thou land of freedom's birth Pride of the main, and Phoenix of the earth! Thou second Rome, where mercy, justice, dwell, Whose sons in wisdom as in arms excel! 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 ferved reign,
She bids thy ensigns float above the main;
Unfurls her streamers to the fav'ring 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!
Calpé's proud rock, and Syra's palmy shore,
Have heard and trembled at their battle's roar;
The sacred waves of fertilizing 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 hal'ow'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, formost 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 Vimiera's field;

Still have her warriors borne th' unfading crown, And made the British flag the ensign of renown.

Spirit of ALFRED! patriot soul sublime!
Thou morning-star of error's darkest time!
Prince of the lion-heart! whose arm in fight,
On Syria's plains repell'd Saladin's might!
EDWARD! for bright heroic deeds revered,
By Cressy's fame to Britain still endear'd!
Triumphant HENRY! thou, whose valor proud,
The lofty plume of crested Gallia bow'd!

Look down, look down, exalted shades! and view
Your Albion still to freedom's banner true!
Behold the land, ennobled by your fame,
Supreme in glory, and of spotless name;
And, as the pyramid indignant rears

Its awful head, and mocks the waste of years;
See her secure in pride of virtue tower,
While prostrate nations kiss the rod of power!

Lo! where her pennons, waving high, aspire,
Bold Victory hovers near," with eyes of fire!"
While Lusitania hails, with just applause,
The brave defenders of her injured cause;
Bids the full song, the note of triumph rise,
And swells th' exulting pæan to the skies!

And they, who late with anguish, hard to tell,
Breathed to their cherish'd realms a sad farewell!
Who, as the vessel bore them o'er the tide,
Still fondly linger'd on its deck, and sigh'd;
Gazed on the shore, till tears obscured their sight,
And the blue distance melted into light;
The Royal exiles, forced by Gallia's hate
To fly for refuge in a foreign state:

They, soon returning o'er the western main,
Ere long may view their clime beloved again;
And, as the blazing pillar led the host
Of faithful Israel, o'er the desert coast;
So may Britannia guide the noble band,
O'er the the wild ocean, to their native land.
Oh, glorious isle!-oh sov'reign of the waves!
Thine are the sons who "never will be slaves!"
See them once more, with ardent hearts advance,
And rend the laurels of insulting France;
To brave Castile their potent aid supply,
And wave, O Freedom! wave thy sword on high!

Is there no bard of heavenly power possess'd,
To thrill, to rouse, to animate the breast?

Like Shakspeare o'er the secret mind to sway,
And call each wayward passion to obey?
Is there no bard, imbued with hallow'd fire,
To wake the chords of Ossian's magic lyre;
Whose numbers breathing all his flame divine,
The patriot's name to ages might consign?
Rise! Inspiration! rise, be this thy theme,
And mount, like Uriel, on the golden beam!

Oh, could my muse on seraph pinion spring,
And sweep with rapture's hand the trembling string!
Could she the bosom energies control,

And pour impassion'd fervor o'er the soul!
Oh, could she strike the harp to Milton given,
Brought by a cherub from th' empyrean heaven!
Ah, fruitless wish! ah, prayer preferr'd in vain,
For her-the humblest of the woodland train;
Yet shall her feeble voice essay to raise
The hymn of liberty, the song of praise!

Iberian bands! whose noble ardor glows,
To pour confusion on oppressive foes;
Intrepid spirits, hail! 'tis yours to feel
The hero's fire, the freeman's godlike zeal!
Not to secure dominion's boundless reign,
Ye wave the flag of conquest o'er the slain;
No cruel rapine leads you to the war,
Nor mad ambition, whirl'd in crimson car;
No, brave Castilians! yours a nobler end,
Your land, your laws, your monarch to defend!
For these, for these, your valiant legions rear
The floating standard, and the lofty spear!
The fearless lover wields the conquering sword,
Fired by the image of the maid adored!
His best beloved, his fondest ties, to aid,

The father's hand unsheaths the glitt'ring blade!
For each, for all, for ev'ry sacred right,

The daring patriot mingles in the fight!

And e'en if love or friendship fail to warm,

His country's name alone can nerve his dauntless arm!

He bleeds! he falls! his death-bed is the field!

His dirge the trumpet, and his bier the shield!

His closing eyes the beam of valor speak,

The flush of ardor lingers on his cheek;
Serene he lifts to heaven those closing eyes,
Then for his country breaths a prayer-and dies
Oh! ever hallow'd be his verdant grave,
There let the laurel spread, the cypress wave!
Thou, lovely Spring! bestow, to grace his tomb,
Thy sweetest fragrance, and thy earliest bloom:

There let the tears of heaven descend in balm,
There let the poet consecrate his palm!
Let honor, pity, bless the holy ground,

And shades of sainted heroes watch around!
'Twas thus, while Glory rung his thrilling knell,
Thy chief, oh Thebes! at Mantinea fell;
Smiled undismay'd within the arms of death,
While Victory, weeping nigh, received his breath!

Oh! thou, the sovereign of the noble soul!
Thou source of energies beyond control!
Queen of the lofty thought, the gen'rous deed,
Whose sons unconquer'd fight, undaunted bleed,-
Inspiring Liberty! thy worship'd name
The warm enthusiast kindles to a flame;
Thy charms inspire him to achievements high,
Thy look of heaven, thy voice of harmony;
More blest, with thee to tread perennial snows,
Where ne'er a flower expands, a zephys blows;
Where Winter, binding nature in his chain,
In frost-work palace holds perpetual reign;
Than, far from thee, with frolic step to rove
The green savannas and the spicy grove;
Scent the rich balm of India's perfumed gales,
In citron-woods and aromatic vales:
For, oh! fair Liberty, when thou art near,
Elysium blossoms in the desert drear!

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 canvas 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 fav'rite 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;