HAIL, Virgin Queen! o'er many an envious bar Triumphant, snatched from many a treacherous wile! All hail, sage Lady, whom a grateful Isle Hath blest, respiring from that dismal war Stilled by thy voice! But quickly from afar Defiance breathes with more malignant aim; And alien storms with home-bred ferments claim Portentous fellowship. Her silver car, By sleepless prudence ruled, glides slowly on; Unhurt by violence, from menaced taint 10 Emerging pure, and seemingly more bright: Ah! wherefore yields it to a foul constraint Black as the clouds its beams dispersed, while shone, By men and angels blest, the glorious light?