Hail, happy Britain! highly favoured isle

My hoarse-sounding horn Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings; Image of war, without its guilt.

For the next inn he spurs amain, In haste alights, and skuds away, But time and tide for no man stay.

Prostrate on earth the bleeding warrior lies, And Isr'el's beauty on the mountains dies. How are the mighty fallen! Hush'd be my sorrow, gently fall my tears, Lest my sad tale should reach the alien's ears: Bid Fame be dumb, and tremble to …

He taught them how to live and how to die.

Fortune is like a widow won, And truckles to the bold alone.

Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail! Rejoic'd I see thy purple mantle spread O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way, And orient pearls from ev'ry shrub depend.