Rich With The Spoils Of Time.

The Hues Of Bliss More Brightly Glow, Chastis'd By Sabler Tints Of Woe.

England, So Long Mistress Of The Sea, Where Winds And Waves Confess Her Sovereignty, Her Ancient Triumphs Yet On High Shall Bear And Reign The Sovereign Of The Conquered Air.

Man's Feeble Race What Ills Await! Labour, And Penury, The Racks Of Pain, Disease, And Sorrow's Weeping Train, And Death, Sad Refuge From The Storms Of Fate!

Implores The Passing Tribute Of A Sigh.

Rich With The Spoils Of Time.