Come then, expressive silence, muse His praise.

Forever, Fortune, wilt thou proveAn unrelenting foe to love,And, when we meet a mutual heart,Come in between and bid us part?

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, Britannia rule the waves;Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.'

A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems,Who, void of envy, guile, and lust of gain,On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes,Poured forth his unpremeditated strain.

I know no subject more elevating, more amazing, more ready to the poetical enthusiasm, the philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment than the works of nature. Where can we meet such variety, such beauty, such magnificence?

See, Winter comes to rule the varied year,Sullen and sad.

Welcome, kindred glooms!Congenial horrors, hail!

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

There studious let me sit,And hold high converse with the mighty dead.

Ships dim-discovered dropping from the clouds.