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Still prouder glories beam on history's page, Imperial ! to mark thy prosperous age Those golden days of arts and fancy bright, When Science pour'd her mild, refulgent light; When Painting bade the glowing canvass breathe Creative Sculpture claim'd the living wreath; When roved the Muses in Ausonian bowers, Weaving immortal crowns of fairest flowers; When angel-truth dispersed, with beam divine, The clouds that veil'd religion's hallow'd shrine Those golden days beheld Iberia tower High on the pyramid of fame and power; Vain all the efforts of her numerous foes, Her might, superior still, triumphant rose. Thus on proud Lebanon's exalted brow, The cedar, frowning o'er the plains below, Though storms assail, its regal pomp to rend, Majestic, still aspires, disdaining e'er to bend!

When Gallia pour'd to Pavia's trophied plain, Her youthful knights, a bold, impetuous train; When, after many a toil and danger past, The fatal morn of conflict rose at last; That morning saw her glittering host combine, And form in close array the threat'ning line; Fire in each eye, and force in ev'ry arm, With hope exulting, and with ardour warm; Saw to the gale their streaming ensigns play, Their armour flashing to the beam of day; Their gen'rous chargers panting, spurn the ground, Roused by the trumpet's animating sound; And heard in air their warlike music float, The martial pipe, the drum's inspiring note!