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storms with which they love to dully* bounds not the heart ot every 
Briton to the music of the national anthem — 
< Rule Britannia! 
Britannia rule the waves! ’ ? " 
Proud monarch of the forest! 
That once, a sapling bough, 
Didst quail far more at evening’s breath 
Than at the tempest now, 
Strange scenes have pass’d, long ages roll’d 
Since first upon thy stem, 
Then weak as osier twig, Spring set 
Her leafy diadem. 
Perchance thy mid-day glory 
Long since has pass’d away, 
Yet who that views thy giant bulk 
Can link thee with decay ? 
No blight is on thy leaves, no branch 
From thy huge trunk is torn, 
And still in conscious might thou laugh’st 
The hurricane to scorn. 
