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For this thy noble sons have spread alarms, And bade the zones resound with Britain's arms! Calpè's proud rock, and Syria's palmy shore, Have heard and trembled at their battle's roar; The sacred waves of fertilising 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 spread thy thunder's sound, And 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 hallow'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!