Poor is the triumph o’er the timid hare!

Whoe'er amidst the sons Of reason, valour, liberty, and virtue Displays distinguish'd merit, is a noble Of Nature's own creating.

When Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain: 'Rule, Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.'

At the throng'd levee bends the venal tribe: With fair but faithless smiles each varnish'd o'er, Each smooth as those that mutually deceive, And for their falsehood each despising each.

Forever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to love, And, when we meet a mutual heart, Come in between and bid us part?

O Sophonisba! Sophonisba, O!

These as they change, Almighty Father! these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of Thee.