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 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?