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(Those grassy hills, those glitt'ring dells
Proudly ramparted with rocks)
And Ocean mid his uproar wild
Speaks safety to his island-child!
Hence, for many a fearless age,
Has social Quiet lov'd thy shore;
Nor ever proud Invader's rage
Or sack'd thy towers, or stain'd thy fields with gore.
VIII.
At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride—
Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood,
And join'd the wild yelling of Famine and Blood!
The nations curse thee, They[errata 1] with eager wond'ring
Shall hear Destruction! like a vulture, scream!
Strange-eyed Destruction! who with many a dream
Of central fires thro' nether seas upthund'ring
Soothes her fierce solitude; yet as she lies
By livid fount, or red volcanic stream,
If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes,
O Albion! thy predestin'd ruins rise,
The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap,
Muttering distemper'd triumph in her charmed sleep.
Errata
