In fainting radiance o'er earth's startled bed,
Yet rests, like the death gleam of beauty's eye,
Or last rich tint of an autumnal sky.
And now in fleecy clouds the heav'ns appear.
Again it darts, dreamer, there's naught to fear;
Again, like a proud spirit of the sky,
Though conquer'd, breaking forth in majesty.
Britain, for thee this fearful warning sent,
Oh! mock not foolishly its dire portent;
For now that vice on all her malice wreaks,