Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave, oh! leave the light of Hope behind! What though my winged hours of bliss have been Like angels visits, few and far between.

And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.

Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!

Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name?