O fostering Earth, resplendent Moon,
Who gladd’st the dreary shades of night,
And thou, enthroned at broadest noon,
Hyperion, ’midst exhaustless light,
To me propitious tidings bring,
Raise to the skies a festive sound,
And waft the gladsome notes around,
Till, from the palace of our king,
They echo through Minerva’s fane:
My house, my country, to maintain
Against the ruthless spoiler’s pride,
Menaced because this realm extends
Protection to its suppliant friends,
I with the sword our contest will decide.