And now, my muse, a nobler flight prepare,
     And sing so loud, that heaven and earth may hear. 
     Behold from Italy an awful ray
     Of heavenly light illuminates the day;
     Northward she bends, majestically bright,
     And here she fixes her imperial light. 
     Be bold, be bold, my muse, nor fear to raise
     Thy voice to her who was thy earliest praise[a]. 
     What though the sullen fates refuse to shine,
     Or frown severe on thy audacious line;
     Keep thy bright theme within thy steady sight,
     The clouds shall fly before thy dazzling light,
     And everlasting day direct thy lofty flight. 
     Thou, who hast never yet put on disguise,
     To flatter faction, or descend to vice,
     Let no vain fear thy generous ardour tame,
     But stand erect, and sound as loud as fame. 
       As when our eye some prospect would pursue,
     Descending from a hill looks round to view,
     Passes o’er lawns and meadows, till it gains
     Some favourite spot, and fixing there remains;
     With equal ardour my transported muse
     Flies other objects, this bright theme to chuse. 
       Queen of our hearts, and charmer of our sight! 
     A monarch’s pride, his glory and delight! 
     Princess adored and loved! if verse can give
     A deathless name, thine shall for ever live;
     Invoked where’er the British lion roars,
     Extended as the seas that guard the British shores. 
     The wise immortals, in their seats above,
     To crown their labours still appointed love;
     Phoebus enjoyed the goddess of the sea,
     Alcides had Omphale, James has thee. 
     O happy James! content thy mighty mind,
     Grudge not the world, for still thy queen is kind;
     To be but at whose feet more glory brings,
     Than ’tis to tread on sceptres and on kings. 
     Secure of empire in that beauteous breast,
     Who would not give their crowns to be so blest? 
     Was Helen half so fair, so formed for joy,
     Well chose the Trojan, and well burned was Troy. 
     But ah! what strange vicissitudes of fate,
     What chance attends on every worldly state! 
     As when the skies were sacked, the conquered gods,
     Compelled from heaven, forsook their blessed abodes;
     Wandering in woods, they hid from den to den,
     And sought their safety in the shapes of men;
     As when the winds with kindling flames conspire,
     The blaze increases as they fan the fire;
     From roof to roof the burning torrent pours,
     Nor spares the palace nor the loftiest towers;
     Or as the stately pine, erecting high
     Her lofty branches shooting to the sky,
     If riven by the thunderbolt of Jove,
     Down falls at once the pride of all the grove;
     Level with lowest shrubs lies the tall head,
     That, reared aloft, as to the clouds was spread,
     So—­
     But cease, my muse, thy colours are too faint;
     Shade with a veil those griefs thou can’st not paint. 
     That sun is set!—­