Poem by James Thomson

Rule Britannia

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 crown'd,
      And manly hearts to guard the fair.
            "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
            Britons never will be slaves." 

1. The Happy Man
2. The Morning Lark
3. A Complaint on the Miseries of Life
4. From Those Eternal Regions
5. Death of the Stag

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