Читать книгу Selected Poetry and Prose - Percy Bysshe Shelley - Страница 6

I

God prosper, speed, and save,

God raise from England’s grave

Her murdered Queen!

Pave with swift victory

The steps of Liberty,

Whom Britons own to be

Immortal Queen.

II

See, she comes throned on high,

On swift Eternity!

God save the Queen!

Millions on millions wait,

Firm, rapid, and elate,

On her majestic state!

God save the Queen!

III

She is Thine own pure soul

Moulding the mighty whole,—

God save the Queen!

She is Thine own deep love

Rained down from Heaven above,—

Wherever she rest or move,

God save our Queen!

IV

Wilder her enemies

In their own dark disguise,—

God save our Queen!

All earthly things that dare

Her sacred name to bear,

Strip them, as kings are, bare;

God save the Queen!

V

Be her eternal throne

Built in our hearts alone—

God save the Queen!

Let the oppressor hold

Canopied seats of gold;

She sits enthroned of old

O’er our hearts Queen.

VI

Lips touched by seraphim

Breathe out the choral hymn

God save the Queen!

Sweet as if angels sang,

Loud as that trumpet’s clang

Wakening the world’s dead gang,—

God save the Queen!