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All that its eagles behold in their flight, Was yours from the deep to each storm-mantled height! Tho' from your race that proud birth-right be torn, Unquench'd is the spirit for monarchy born. Darkly though clouds may hang o'er us awhile, The crown shall not pass from the Beautiful Isle!

Ages may roll ere your children regain, The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain. Yet in the sound of your name shall be power, Around her still gathering, till glory's full hour. Strong in the fame of the mighty that sleep, Your Britain shall sit on the throne of the deep! Then shall their spirits rejoice in her smile, Who died for the crown of the Beautiful Isle!