Or, strong in battle, borne
Britain’s streaming banner pierced and torn140
But trampled not by any foe;
Or, dauntless in a direr war,
Have wrested spoil from earth and star;
Till now, three centuries past of joy and woe,
We, our hope and youth renewing,145
Here, the votive chaplet strewing,
At thy feet our homage lay,
Beneath a later Queen of happier, milder sway!