The light of love,1 the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face,2 The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!
Oer the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,5 Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limit to their sway, Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
To all nations their empire will be dreadful, because their ships will sail wherever billows roll or winds can waft them.Dalrymple: Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 152. [back]