Rule Britannia

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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 will be slaves."

The nations, not so blest as thee,
  Must in their turns to tyrants fall;
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
  The dread and envy of them all.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves."

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
  More dreadful from each foreign stroke;
As the loud blast that tears the skies
  Serves but to root thy native oak.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves."

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
  All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame,
  But work their woe and thy renown.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves."

To thee belongs the rural reign;
  Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,
  And every shore it circles thine.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves."

The Muses, still with freedom found,
  Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
  And manly hearts to guard the fair.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves."

© James Thomson