When England bright,
    With Freedom’s light,
    Shone forth in dazzling splendor,
    She scorned to hold,
    The more than gold,
    From those who did befriend her;
    At space she spurned,
    With love she burned,
    And straight across the ocean
    Sent Freedom’s rays,
    T’ illume their days
    And quell their sons’ commotion. 
            Hail, Britannia! 
            Thou loving, kind Britannia! 
            Ne’er failed to wield
            Thy spear and shield. 
            To guard our soil, Britannia!

But rebels choose
For to refuse,
The boon thus kindly granted,
And with vile art,
In many a heart,
Black discord’s seeds they planted;
Now civil war,
In bloody car,
Rode forth—­and Desolation,
Extended wide,
Its horrid stride
For mock emancipation. 

                O Cabotia! 

        Old England’s child Cabotia! 

        No rebel cloud[3]

        Did e’er enshroud

        Thy sacred soil, Cabotia!

The purple flood
Of traitors’ blood
Sent vapors black to heaven,
And hid the blaze
Of Freedom’s rays,
By a kind parent given;
But Liberty,
Quite loath to see,
America neglected,
Came to our land,
And with kind hand
Her temple here erected;

                O Cabotia! 

        Them favored land, Cabotia! 

        While we have breath

        We’ll smile at death,

        To guard thy soil, Cabotia!

When foreign foes
We did oppose,
Britannia stood our second,
And those we fought
Were dearly taught,
Without their host they reckoned;
And should they now,
With hostile prow,
But press, our lakes and rivers,
The Giant-stroke,
From British oak,
Would rend their keels to shivers. 

                And thou, Cabotia! 

        Old England’s child Cabotia! 

        Would see thy race

        In death’s embrace

        Before they’d yield Cabotia!

While Shamrock, Rose,
And Thistle grow,
So close together blended,
New Brunswick ne’er
Will need to fear,
But that she’ll be befriended;
We need not quake,
For nought can break
The sacred ties that bind us,
And those, who’d spoil
Our hallowed soil,
True blue are sure to find us. 

                O Cabotia! 

        Our native land, Cabotia! 

        For thee we’ll drain

        Our every vein,

        Old England’s Child Cabotia!

[Footnote 3:  Long before the Canadian Rebellion.]