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And latest times shall in my numbers read Anna's immortal fame, and Marlborough's hardy deed.
As the strong eagle in the silent wood, Mindless of warlike rage and hostile care, Plays round the rocky cliff or crystal flood, Till by Jove's high behests call'd out to war, And charg’d with thunder of his angry king, His bosom with the vengeful message glows; Upward the noble bird directs his wing, And, towering round his master's earth-born foes, Swift he collects his fatal stock of ire, Lifts his fierce talon high, and darts the forked fire:
Sedate and calm thus victor Marlborough sate, Shaded with laurels, in his native land, Till Anna calls him from his soft retreat, And gives her second thunder to his hand. Then, leaving sweet repose and gentle ease, With ardent speed he seeks the distant foe; Marching o'er hills and vales, o'er rocks and seas, He meditates, and strikes the wondrous blow. Our thought flies slower than our general's fame: Grasps he the bolt 2 we ask—when he has hurl’d
When fierce Bavar on Judoign's spacious plain Did from afar the British chief behold, Betwixt despair, and rage, and hope, and pain,
Something within his warring bosom roll'd :
His former losses he forgets to grieve ;
Misguided prince, no longer urge thy fate,
Nor tempt the hero to unequal war;
1 The Elector of Bavaria had formerly acquired great reputation by the success of his arms against the Turks, particularly in obliging them to raise the siege of Vienna,
after it had continued 59 days, in September 1683, with the loss of seventy-five thousand men and their baggage.
While, bold assertor of resistless truth,
Thy sword did godlike liberty maintain,
Must from thy brow their falling honours shed,
And their transplanted wreaths must deck a worthier head.
Yet cease the ways of Providence to blame, And human faults with human grief confess, 'Tis thou art chang'd, while Heaven is still the From thy ill councils date the ill success. [same; Impartial Justice holds her equal scales, Till stronger virtue does the weight incline; If over thee thy glorious foe prevails, He now defends the cause that once was thine. Righteous the war, the champion shall subdue ; For Jove's great handmaid, Power, must Jove's
Hark! the dire trumpets sound their shrill alarms!
Auverquerque," branch'd from the renown'd Nas-
Hoary in war, and bent beneath his arms,
1 Monsieur Auverquerque who, in the year 1704, and the succeeding campaigns, was appointed to the command of the Dutch forces. He was in great favour with King William, and present at his death.
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From his expiring master's much-lov’d side.
Oft from its fatal ire has Louis flown,
Where'er great William led, or Maese and Sambre run.
But brandish’d high, in an ill-omen’d hour To thee, proud Gaul, behold thy justest fear, The master sword, disposer of thy power: 'Tis that which Caesar gave the British peer. He took the gift: nor ever will I sheathe This steel (so Anna's high behests ordain), The general said, unless by glorious death Absolv’d, till conquest has confirm'd your reign. Returns like these our mistress bids us make, When from aforeign prince a gift her Britons take.
And now fierce Gallia rushes on her foes, Her force augmented by the Boyan bands; So Volga's stream, increas'd by mountain snows, Rolls with new fury down through Russia's lands. Like two great rocks against the raging tide (If Virtue's force with Nature's we compare), Unmov’d the two united chiefs abide, Sustain the impulse, and receive the war. Round their firm sides in vain the tempest beats And still the foaming wave with lessen'd power
The rage dispers'd, the glorious pair advance, With mingled anger and collected might,
To turn the war, and tell aggressing France,
But whilst with fiercest ire Bellona glows, And Europe rather hopes than fears her fate; While Britain presses her afflicted foes; What horror damps the strong, and quells the great! Whence look the soldier's cheeks dismay’d and pale? Erst ever dreadful, know they now to dread: The hostile troops, I ween, almost prevail; And the pursuers only not recede. Alas! their lessen’d rage proclaims their grief! For, anxious, lo! they crowd around their falling
I thank thee, Fate, exclaims the fierce Bavar Let Boya's trumpet grateful IGs sound: I saw him fall, their thunderbolt of war: — Ever to vengeance sacred be the ground.— Vain wish short joy! the hero mounts again In greater glory, and with fuller light: The evening-star so falls into the main, To rise at morn more prevalently bright.