Thou too great father of the British floods!
With joyful pride survey’st our lofty woods;
Where tow’ring oaks their growing honours rear,
And future navies on thy shores appear,
Not Neptune’s self, from all her streams, receives
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.
No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear,
No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear;
Nor Po so swells the fabling poets lays,
While led along the skies his current strays,