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Rule, Britannia! (With Variations)

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 blest as thee,
  Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
  The dread and envy of them all.
      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
      Britons never will be slaves.

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.
      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
      Britons never will be slaves.

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.
      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
      Britons never will be slaves.

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.
      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
      Britons never will be slaves.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
  Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
  And manly hearts to guard the fair.
      "Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
      Britons never will be slaves.

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Comments

  • terrible tyke
    September 22, 2006
    Edit | Reply
    It is sometimes hard to believe that this unofficial signature tune for the Proms was written almost three centuries ago. Unless that is one actually reads the words.
    So obviously written as a rabble-rousing paen of praise for a nation in time of war when Britain was involved in a dynastic struggle with the Stuarts for the Crown and had to repel invasion threats from France and from Spain in support of Prince Charles Edward Stuart.
    Would a modern poet get away with such lines as
    As the loud blast that tears the skies,
    Serves but to root thy native oak.
    or
    To thee belongs the rural reign;
    Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
    One wonders how it went down with readers when first written and if it would have survived had Thomson not had the sense to turn it into a song and if someone had not later written that marvellous tune.