Читать книгу Macmillan's Reading Books. Book V - Unknown - Страница 29

       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 blessed as thee,

          Must in their turn to tyrants fall;

       While thou shalt flourish great and free,

          The dread and envy of them all.

       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.

       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.

       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.

       The Muses, still with freedom found,

          Shall to thy happy coast repair:

       Blessed isle! with matchless beauty crowned,

          And manly hearts to guard the fair:

             Rule, Britannia, rule the waves,

             Britons never will be slaves!