Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o’er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below,- As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor Aag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the morn of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.