Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles

That, like to rich and various gems, inlay

The unadornéd bosom of the deep;

Which he, to grace his tributary gods,

By course commits to several government,

And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns

And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,

The greatest and the best of all the main,

He quarters to his blue-haired deities;

And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 30

 30

A noble Peer of mickle trust and power

Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide

An old and haughty nation, proud in arms:

Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,

Are coming to attend their father’s state,

And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way

Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows

Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;

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