Methinks I see those crowds on Dover’s strand
Who in their haste to welcome you to land
Choked up the beach with their still growing store,
And made a wilder torrent on the shore.
While spurred with eager thoughts of past delight
Those who had seen you, court a second sight;
Preventing still your steps, and making haste
To meet you often where so ere you past.
How shall I speak of that triumphant day
When you renewed the expiring pomp of May!
(A Month that owns an interest in your name:
You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.)
That star that at your birth shone out so bright
It stained the duller sun’s meridian light,
Did once again its potent fires renew
Guiding our eyes to find and worship you.
And now time’s whiter series is begun
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run;
Those clouds that overcast your morn shall fly
Dispelled to farthest corners of the sky.
Our nation with united interest blessed
Not now content to poise, shall sway the rest.
Abroad your empire shall no limits know,
But like the sea in boundless circles flow.
