St. Bartlemy's mantle wipes dry
All the tears that St. Swithun can cry.
Portugal.
...Happy Britannia!...
Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime;
Thy streams unfailing in the Summer's drought;
Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks; thy vallies float
With golden waves; and on thy mountains flocks
Bleat numberless; while roving round their sides,