Awake! O, Cornubia! rouse thy slumb'rous frame!
Tell Albion's sons thou hast a mighty bard!
Make thou a way for his melodious strain,
Whose song-wrapt soul the mystic muse doth guard.

Wake! O awake! and let thy hills and dales
Echo the praises that should burst from thee!
Let thy glad voice ring through the silent vales,
Waking thy sons to his rare melody.

Oh! one will yet arise to gild thy name,
Will weave a garland for thy rugged brow,
Will light thy beacons with a quenchless flame,
And thy proud form shall 'neath its radiance glow.

Thou shouldst be proud of such a child as this!
Should hasten now to grasp his proffered hand!
Plant on his noble brow a welcome kiss,
As thy first-born fit for the classic band.

Wake! then, awake! a glorious hope is thine,
Peal it afar, and let the world regard;
Soon will it rise, beneath the strains sublime,
And hasten to applaud Cornubia's bard.