O QUEEN of arms, of arts, imperial Isle,
Parent of noble deeds, of fair desire,
Where Freedom (spite of Faction's gloom) will smile,
Warming thy dauntless sons with genuine fire!
Oh! speak thy sorrows, ease thy bleeding heart,
That swells indignant at thy hero's doom;
That son, who fondly took a parent's part,
Her glories spreading, found a barbarous tomb,
Command his worth in lasting verse to shine,
Bid Fame, bid History, his sculpture rear,
Bid generous Britons consecrate his shrine,
And Cook 's lov'd name command the grateful tear.