Rule, Britannia! (With Variations)

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When Britain first, at heaven's command,
  Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
  And guardian Angels sung this strain:
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not so blest as thee,
  Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
  The dread and envy of them all.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
  More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
  Serves but to root thy native oak.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
  All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
  But work their woe, and thy renown.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves.

To thee belongs the rural reign;
  Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
  And every shore it circles thine.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
  Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
  And manly hearts to guard the fair.
  "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
  Britons never will be slaves.

© James Thomson