"And, oh Britannia! should'st thou cease to ride Despotic Empress of old Ocean's tide;— Should thy tam'd Lion—spent his former might— No longer roar, the terror of the fight:— Should e'er arrive that dark, disastrous hour, When, bow'd by luxury, thou yield'st to pow'r; When thou, no longer freest of the free, To some proud victor bend'st the vanquish'd knee;— May all thy glories in another sphere Relume, and shine more brightly still than here; May this—thy last-born —then arise, To glad thy heart, and greet thy eyes; And float, with flag unfurl'd, A new in another world!"