Hail happy nymph, great mistress of these plains
Heav’s darling, and the joy of British swains,
Enliv’ner of my muse, ’tis thee she sings,
Sent from a race of God-like British kings,
Who, from the summits of yond spacious height,
Behold their native Albion with delight.
Well may the Britons celebrate this day,
For thou with int’rest shalt their loves repay;
Their sacred rites thou shalt with zeal defend,
And o’re their harmless flocks thy care extend,
From rav’nous wolves secure the sporting lambs,
And watch with pious care the pregnant dams
Celestial light shall fill thy happy shade,
And rural songs thy peaceful hours invade;
Gentle, as infant smiles, thy reign shall prove,
Calm as the bosom of successful love.
