DRYDEN
Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:We come, we come, we come, we come,Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.Now they charge on amain,Now they rally again:The gods from above the mad labour behold,And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.The fainting Saxons quit their ground,Their trumpets languish in the sound:They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.Now the victory’s won,To the plunder we run:We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish’d invaders.John Dryden.
Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:We come, we come, we come, we come,Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.Now they charge on amain,Now they rally again:The gods from above the mad labour behold,And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.The fainting Saxons quit their ground,Their trumpets languish in the sound:They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.Now the victory’s won,To the plunder we run:We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish’d invaders.John Dryden.
Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:We come, we come, we come, we come,Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.
Now they charge on amain,Now they rally again:The gods from above the mad labour behold,And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.
The fainting Saxons quit their ground,Their trumpets languish in the sound:They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.
Now the victory’s won,To the plunder we run:We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish’d invaders.
John Dryden.
Methinks already from this chymic flameI see a city of more precious mould,Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,With silver paved, and all divine with gold.Already, labouring with a mighty fate,She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow,And seems to have renewed her charter’s dateWhich Heaven will to the death of time allow.More great than human now and more august,New deified she from her fires does rise:Her widening streets on new foundations trust,And, opening, into larger parts she flies.Before, she like some shepherdess did showWho sate to bathe her by a river’s side,Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.Now like a maiden queen she will beholdFrom her high turrets hourly suitors come;The East with incense and the West with goldWill stand like suppliants to receive her dome.The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train,And often wind, as of his mistress proud,With longing eyes to meet her face again.The wealthy Tagus and the wealthier RhineThe glory of their towns no more shall boast,The Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join,Shall find her lustre stained and traffic lost.The venturous merchant, who designed more far,And touches on our hospitable shore,Charmed with the splendour of this northern starShall here unlade him and depart no more.Our powerful navy shall no longer meetThe wealth of France or Holland to invade;The beauty of this town without a fleetFrom all the world shall vindicate her trade.And while this famed emporium we prepare,The British ocean shall such triumphs boast,That those who now disdain our trade to shareShall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.Already we have conquered half the war,And the less dangerous part is left behind;Our trouble now is but to make them dareAnd not so great to vanquish as to find.Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,And now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more!A constant trade-wind will securely blowAnd gently lay us on the spicy shore.John Dryden.
Methinks already from this chymic flameI see a city of more precious mould,Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,With silver paved, and all divine with gold.Already, labouring with a mighty fate,She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow,And seems to have renewed her charter’s dateWhich Heaven will to the death of time allow.More great than human now and more august,New deified she from her fires does rise:Her widening streets on new foundations trust,And, opening, into larger parts she flies.Before, she like some shepherdess did showWho sate to bathe her by a river’s side,Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.Now like a maiden queen she will beholdFrom her high turrets hourly suitors come;The East with incense and the West with goldWill stand like suppliants to receive her dome.The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train,And often wind, as of his mistress proud,With longing eyes to meet her face again.The wealthy Tagus and the wealthier RhineThe glory of their towns no more shall boast,The Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join,Shall find her lustre stained and traffic lost.The venturous merchant, who designed more far,And touches on our hospitable shore,Charmed with the splendour of this northern starShall here unlade him and depart no more.Our powerful navy shall no longer meetThe wealth of France or Holland to invade;The beauty of this town without a fleetFrom all the world shall vindicate her trade.And while this famed emporium we prepare,The British ocean shall such triumphs boast,That those who now disdain our trade to shareShall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.Already we have conquered half the war,And the less dangerous part is left behind;Our trouble now is but to make them dareAnd not so great to vanquish as to find.Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,And now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more!A constant trade-wind will securely blowAnd gently lay us on the spicy shore.John Dryden.
Methinks already from this chymic flameI see a city of more precious mould,Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,With silver paved, and all divine with gold.
Already, labouring with a mighty fate,She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow,And seems to have renewed her charter’s dateWhich Heaven will to the death of time allow.
More great than human now and more august,New deified she from her fires does rise:Her widening streets on new foundations trust,And, opening, into larger parts she flies.
Before, she like some shepherdess did showWho sate to bathe her by a river’s side,Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.
Now like a maiden queen she will beholdFrom her high turrets hourly suitors come;The East with incense and the West with goldWill stand like suppliants to receive her dome.
The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train,And often wind, as of his mistress proud,With longing eyes to meet her face again.
The wealthy Tagus and the wealthier RhineThe glory of their towns no more shall boast,The Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join,Shall find her lustre stained and traffic lost.
The venturous merchant, who designed more far,And touches on our hospitable shore,Charmed with the splendour of this northern starShall here unlade him and depart no more.
Our powerful navy shall no longer meetThe wealth of France or Holland to invade;The beauty of this town without a fleetFrom all the world shall vindicate her trade.
And while this famed emporium we prepare,The British ocean shall such triumphs boast,That those who now disdain our trade to shareShall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.
Already we have conquered half the war,And the less dangerous part is left behind;Our trouble now is but to make them dareAnd not so great to vanquish as to find.
Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,And now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more!A constant trade-wind will securely blowAnd gently lay us on the spicy shore.
John Dryden.