Our powerful navy shall no longer meet
The wealth of France or Holland to invade;
The beauty of this town without a fleet

From all the world shall vindicate her trade.

And while this famed emporium we prepare,

The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, That those who now disdain our trade to share Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.

Already we have conquered half the war,

And the less dangerous part is left behind; Our trouble now is but to make them dare And not so great to vanquish as to find.

Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, And now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more! A constant trade-wind will securely blow

And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

John Dryden.

XIX

RULE BRITANNIA

WHEN Britain first at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of her land,

And guardian angels sang the strain:
Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee

Must in their turn to tyrants fall,

Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free-
The dread and envy of them all!

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the last blast which tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame,

And work their woe and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine!
The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair:-

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves!

James Thomson.

XX

DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN

HERE'S a health to the King and a lasting peace,

To faction an end, to wealth increase!

Come, let's drink it while we have breath,

For there's no drinking after death;

And he that will this health deny,

Down among the dead men

Down among the dead men-
Down, down, down, down,

Down among the dead men let

him lie!

John Dyer.

XXI

GOD SAVE THE KING

GOD save our lord, the King,
Long live our noble King,-
God save the King!
Send him victorious,

Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,-
God save the King!

O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter his enemies,
And make them fall!
Confound their politics,

Frustrate their knavish tricks!
On Thee our hopes we fix,-
God save us all!

Thy choicest gifts in store
On him be pleased to pour,-
Long may he reign!

May he defend our laws,
And ever give us cause

To sing with heart and voice
God save the King!

Anonymous.

XXII

HEARTS OF OAK

COME, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer,
To add something more to this wonderful year,
To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,
For who are so free as the sons of the waves?
Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our

men,

We always are ready,

Steady, boys, steady,

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay,
They never see us but they wish us away;

If they run, why, we follow, and run them ashore,
For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more.
Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our

men,

We always are ready,

Steady, boys, steady,

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, Her standard be justice, her watchword 'Be free'; Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men,

We always are ready,
Steady, boys, steady,

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

David Garrick.

XXIII

THE SLEEP OF THE BRAVE

How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall a while repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

William Collins.

XXIV

BOADICEA

WHEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought with an indignant mien
Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Every burning word he spoke

Full of rage, and full of grief:

'Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
"Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

'Rome shall perish,—write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

'Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,—
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

'Other Romans shall arise

Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.

'Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,

Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.

'Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.'

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She with all a monarch's pride
Felt them in her bosom glow,
Rushed to battle, fought, and died,
Dying, hurled them at the foe:

'Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due;

Empire is on us bestowed,

Shame and ruin wait for you!'

William Cowper.