Imagini ale paginilor
[blocks in formation]

WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,

Arose from out the azure main,

Arose, &c.

This was the charter, the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung the strain :


Rule, Britannia, Britannia, rule the waves,
For Britons never will be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee,

Must in their turns to tyrants fall,
Must, &c.

Whilst thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free,

The dread and envy of them all.

Rule, Britannia, &c.


Still more majestic shalt thou rise

More dreadful from each foreign stroke,

More, &c.

As the loud blast, loud blast that tears the skies,

Serves but to root thy native oak.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down,
All their, &c.

Will but arouse, arouse thy gen'rous flame,
And work their woe and thy renown.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

To thee belongs the rural reign,—

Thy cities shall with commerce shine,
Thy cities, &c.

All thine shall be, shall be the subject main,

And ev'ry shore it circles thine.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

The Muses, still with freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair,

Shall, &c.

Blest isle! with beauty, with matchless beauty crown'd,

And manly hearts to guard the fair.

Rule, Britannia, &c.




Sung by Mr Incledon.


FROM the white-blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested

A sprig, her fair breast to adorn :

No, by heav'ns, I exclaim'd, may I perish, if ever
I plant in that bosom a thorn.

Then I shew'd her a ring, and implor'd her to marry;
She blush'd like the dawning of morn:

Yes, I'll consent, she reply'd, if you'll promise
That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn.
No, by heav'ns, I exclaim'd, may I perish, if ever
I plant in that bosom a thorn.




Sung by Mr Incledon.

WHEN Steerwell heard me first impart
Our brave commander's story,

With ardent zeal his youthful heart
Swell'd high for naval glory;

Resolv'd to gain a valiant name,

For bold adventures eager,


When first a little cabin-boy on board the Fame,
He would hold on the jigger,

When ten jolly tars, with musical Joe,

Hove the anchor a-peak, singing yoe! heave, yoe!
Singing yoe! heave, yoe!

To hand top-gallant sails next he learn'd
With quickness, care, and spirit,—
Whose generous master then discern'd
And priz'd his dawning merit.
He taught him soon to reef and steer,
When storms convuls'd the ocean,
Where shoals made skilful vet'rans fear,
Which mark'd him for promotion..

As none to the pilot e'er answer'd like he,
When he gave the command, hard a-port! helm a-lee
Luff, boys, luff! keep her near!

Clear the buoy, make the pier !

None to the pilot c'er answer'd like he,

When he gave the command in the pool or at sea,

Hard a-port! helm a-lee

For valour, skill, and worth renown'd,

The foe he oft defeated;

And now, with fame and fortune crown'd,
Post-Captain he is rated.

Who, should our injur'd country bleed,

Still bravely would defend her:
Now blest with peace, if beauty plead,
He'll prove his heart as tender.
Unaw'd, yet mild to high and low,
To poor and wealthy, friend or foe;
Wounded tars share his wealth,-
All the fleet drink his health-

[ocr errors][merged small]
« ÎnapoiContinuă »