That life’s sweet charities have made their own;
Fearest thou, Britain, for thy rock-girt realm,
With seas that foam around and whirlpools to o’erwhelm?
Still in the midst of ocean firmly placed,
Circled by mighty waves thy seat is based!
Not by a strait enclosed, as that fair soil
Where Fabled Vulcan plies his fiery toil;
Within no narrow bay thy waters roll,
No yawning gulf, no barrier rocks control.
Wider thy space, thy realm no limit knows,