Arise superior to the Siren’s power, 95
The wretch, the short-lived vision of an hour;
Soon fades her cheek, her blushing beauties fly,
As fades the chequer’d bow that paints the sky,
So shall thy sire, whilst hope his breast inspires,
And wakes anew life’s glimmering trembling fires, 100
Hear Britain’s sons rehearse thy praise with joy,
Look up to heaven, and bless his darling boy.
If e’er these precepts quell’d the passions’ strife,
If e’er they smooth’d the rugged walks of life,