3 Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while
Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile,
With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms?
Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,
The praise and envy of the nations round,
What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's sway?
Amid the storms of war, how soon may all
The lofty pile from its foundations fall,
Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!
4 No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales
Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store,
And every port is crowded with thy sails,
And every wave throws treasure on thy shore.
What boots it? If luxurious Plenty charm
Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm
Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain,
Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine.
Oh, rather far be poor! Thy gold will shine
Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane.
5 But what hath Force or War to do with thee?
Girt by the azure tide, and throned sublime
Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see,
With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime
Dash'd ere it reach thee.
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