And gentlest Goldsmith, jovial now110
As when he lipped his flute in France;
And he who sang of Erin’s wrong
In lays that listening Time entrance;
Poet, priest, warrior, wit, smile on our jubilant throng.
II. 3.
Mother, since the lion-Queen115
Set thy name in jewelled story,
How the beam of Learning’s glory
Still has rested on our Island green,