POETRY. 453 



O'er Alpine heights that proudly rise 



And shroud their summits in the skies, 



Or by the Rhine's majestic stream, 



The hostile arms of Gallia gleam ; 



Fenc'd by her naval hosts that ride 



Triumphant o'er her circling tide, 

 Britannia, jocund, pours the festive lay. 

 And hails with duteous voice her George's natal day. 



III. 



Yet though her eye exulting sees 

 Valour her daring offspring crown, 



And glory wafts on every breeze 

 The swelling paeans of renown, 



Not from the warrior laurel's leaves 



The votive garland now she weaves, 



Sweeter than Maia's balmy breath, 



Concord perfumes the civic wreath 



Of flowers, embued with dew divine. 



Which Albion and lerne twine, 

 To deck his brow whom each, with grateful smiles, 

 Owns heir of Ocean's reign, lord of the Bri]tish isles. 



IV. 



God of our fathers, rise. 



And through the thund'ring skies 



Thy vengeance urge, 

 In awful justice red. 

 Be thy dread arrows sped. 

 But guard our monarch's head ; 



God save great George ! 



V. 

 Still on our Albion smile. 

 Still o'er this happy isle, 



O spread thy wing ! 

 To make each blessing sure. 

 To make our fame endure, 

 To make our rights secure, 



God save our king ! 



VI. 



To the loud trumpet's throat. 

 To the shrill Clarion's note, 



Now jocund sing ; 

 From ev'ry open foe, 

 From ev'ry traitor's blow, 

 Virttie defend his brow, 



God guard our king ! 



