For Albion thy belov'd
(Olive-chaplets on thy brow),
With bloodless hands upheld'st her drooping head,
And with thy trumpets call'dst her from the dead.
Bright Phosphor to the rising Sun!
That Royal Lamp, by thee did first appear
60Usher'd into our happy hemisphere;
O may it still shine bright and clear!
No cloud nor night approach it, but a constant noon!