Yet beauty there not mines
Strength; for no cliff is there
No headland calmly fair
But fringed with wild sprays wed
To shout Britannia.
3
Britannia the strong,
Whom God designed should queen
The Ocean plain, serene
Though threat'ning foes bethrong:
Whose fate shall not belong,
While round her, every deck
Bristling with cannon, speck
The seas her angry fleet.
Not earth to dominate
Or to embroil with war
Tower they: 'tis to keep sweet
The world's dear peace they bulk
So with their silent hulk
In all eyes power, elate
To speak Britannia.
4
Britannia the free,
Of soil so virtuous, such
No foot of slave can touch
But walks at liberty.
The staff she is, the crutch
By whom weak lands arise,
Who nourished in her eyes
Grow, and shake off the sloth
Of old anarchic power.
Two richly tokens are
Of her boon influence, both:
What man of Ind or Nile
Who sees his fat fields smile
