Classic Poem

AT CHESTER, IN 1815.

O F yore, when Britain yet was young,
When Rome decreed oppression's date,
Our bards the strain consoling sung,
Inspir'd — foretold a happier fate —
" That ocean's waves should waft our fame —
" The first of nations boast our NAME . "
Rule, Britannia! &c.

In adverse days we left the plain,
And sought the summits unexplor'd,
Where never tyrant forg'd the chain,
And Caesar's eagles never soar'd.
That ocean's &c.

There Freedom dwelt, a mountain fair —
There bade each Briton's bosom glow;
With her they breath'd a purer air,
With her repell'd their ev'ry foe.
That ocean's, &c.

Till Heav'n, in blissful healing hour,
Our sires restor'd to London's throne,
Where union nerves their ample pow'r,
And empire's heir is still our own.
That ocean's, &c.

O'er Britain's fair extended face,
By culture, Commerce taught to smile;
One great, one rich, one potent race,
Now decks, defends, the " Mighty Isle. "
That ocean's, &c.

In these triumphant brighter days,
Through friendly meads flows Tweed — the Dee:
When Peace her olive branch displays,
We give this grateful hour to glee.
Sons of Snowdon — Sons of Dee,
We give this grateful day to glee!
Da Capo.
Sons of Thames, Tweed, Boyne — the Dee!
We give this grateful day to glee!
Rule, Britannia! &c.