His Frontiers past, the_ Belgian Bounds he views,
  And cross the level Fields his March pursues. 
  Here pleas’d the Land of Freedom to survey,
  He greatly scorns the Thirst of boundless Sway. 
  O’er the thin Soil, with silent Joy he spies
  Transplanted Woods, and borrow’d Verdure rise;
  Where every Meadow won with Toil and Blood,
  From haughty Tyrants, and the raging Flood,
  With Fruits and Flowers the careful Hind supplies,
  And cloathes the Marshes in a rich Disguise. 
  Such Wealth for frugal Hands doth Heaven decree,
  And such thy Gifts, Celestial Liberty!

  Through stately Towns, and many a fertile Plain,
  The Pomp advances to the neighbouring Main. 
  Whole Nations crowd around with joyful Cries,
  And view the Heroe with insatiate Eyes. 
  In_ Haga’s Towers he waits, ’till Eastern Gales
  Propitious rise to swell the British Sails. 
  Hither the Fame of England’s Monarch brings
  The Vows and Friendships of the neighb’ring Kings;
  Mature in Wisdom, his extensive Mind
  Takes in the blended Int’rests of Mankind,
  The World’s great Patriot.  Calm thy anxious Breast,
  Secure in him, O Europe take thy Rest;
  Henceforth thy Kingdoms shall remain confined
  By Rocks or Streams, the Mounds which Heav’n design’d: 
  The Alps their new-made Monarch shall restrain,
  Nor shall thy Hills, Pirene, rise in vain

  But see! to_ Britain’s Isle the Squadrons stand,
  And leave the sinking Towers, and lessening Land,
  The Royal Bark bounds o’er the floating Plain,
  Breaks thro’ the Billows, and divides the Main,
  O’er the vast Deep, Great Monarch, dart thine Eyes,
  A watry Prospect bounded by the Skies: 
  Ten thousand Vessels, from ten thousand Shores,
  Bring Gums and Gold, and either India’s Stores: 
  Behold the Tributes hastening to thy Throne,
  And see the wide Horizon all thy own.

  Still is it thine; tho’ now the cheerful Crew
  Hail_ Albion’s Cliffs, just whitening to the View. 
  Before the Wind with swelling Sails they ride,
  Till Thames receives them in his opening Tide. 
  The Monarch hears the thundering Peals around,
  From trembling Woods and ecchoing Hills rebound,
  Nor misses yet, amid the deafening Train,
  The Roarings of the hoarse-resounding Main.

  As in the Flood he sails, from either Side
  He views his Kingdom in its rural Pride;
  A various Scene the wide-spread Landskip yields,
  O’er rich Enclosures and luxuriant Fields: 
  A lowing Herd each fertile Pasture fills,
  And distant Flocks stray o’er a thousand Hills. 
  Fair_ Greenwich hid in Woods, with new Delight,
  (Shade above Shade) now rises to the Sight: 
  His Woods ordain’d to visit every Shore,
  And guard the Island which they graced before.