Swift without violence, without terror great.
* * * * * *
In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides,
Or else where Cam his winding vales divides?
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Princess of rivers, how I love
Upon thy flowery banks to lie,
And view thy silver stream,
When gilded by a summer's beam!
And in it all thy wanton fry,
Playing at liberty;
And with my angle, upon them
The all of treachery
I ever learned, industriously to try!
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RGB: 47 48 53
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RGB: 114 113 108
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RGB: 46 73 102
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RGB: 121 117 106
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RGB: 174 150 88
That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up,
At once the wonder, terror, and delight
Of distant nations; whose remotest shore
Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm;
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, like thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.
