תמונות בעמוד

To turn the war, and tell aggressing France,
How Britain's sons, and Britain's friends can fight.
On conquest fix'd, and covetous of fame,
Behold them rushing through the Gallic hoft.
Through standing corn so runs the sudden flame,
Or eastern winds along Sicilia's coast.
They deal their terrrors to the adverse nation :
Påle death attends their arms, and ghaftly desolation:

But while with frercest 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 soldiers cheeks dismay'd and pale?
Erst ever dreadful, know they now to dread?
The hostile troops, I ween, almost prevails ;
And the pursuers only not recede.
Alas! their leffen'd rage proclaims their grief!
Foranxious, lo! they croud around their falling chief,

XVI. I thank thee, fate, exclaims the fierce Bavar; Let Boya's trumpet grateful Io's found : I saw him fall, their thunderbolt of war:Ever to vengeance facred be the groundVain with ! fort joy! the hero mounts again In greater glory, and with fuller light: The ev’ning star lo falls into the main, To rise at morn more prevalently bright. He rises safe, but near, too near his fide, A good man's grievous lofs, a faithful servant dy'a.

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Propitious Mars! the battle is regain'd:
The foe with lefsen'd wrath disputes the field:
The Briton fights, by fav’ring gods sustain'd:
Breedom must live; and lawless power must yield..
Vain now the tales which fabling poets tell,
That wav'ring con quest ftill debres to rove !
In Marlbro's camp the goddess knows to dwells:
Long as the hero's life remains her love.
Again France flies: again the Duke pursues:
And on Ramilia's plains he Blenheim's fame renewed

Great thanks, O captain great in arms ! receive
From thy triumphant country's public voice :.
Thy country greater thanks can only give
To Anne, to her who made those arms her choice.
Recording Schellenbergs, and Blenheim's toils,
We dreaded left thou should'st those toils repeat:
We view'd the palace charg'd with Gallie spoils ;
And in those spoils we thought thy praise compleat:
For never Greek, we deem'd, nor Roman knight,
In characters like these. did e'er his acts indite..

Yet mindless still of ease, thy virtue Ales.
A pitch to old and modern times unknown:
Those goodly deeds which we fo highly prizeg.
Imperfect seem, great chief, to thee alone.
Those heights, where William's virtue might have

And on the subject world look'd safely down,
By Marlbro' pass'd, the props and steps were made, .
Sublimer yet to raise his queen's renowa:

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Still gaining more, still fighting what he gain'd, Nought done the hero deem'd, while ought undone remain'd.

XX. When swift-wing’d Rumour told the mighty Gaul, How lefsend from the field Bavar was fied; He wept the swiftness of the champion's fall; And thus the royal treaty-breaker said: And lives he yet, the great, the loft Bavar, Ruin to Gallia, in the name of friend? Tell me, how far has fortune been severe? Has the foe's glory, or our grief an end? Remains there, of the fifty thousand lost, To save our threater'd realm, or guard our shatter'd coast?

XXI. To the close rock the frighted raven flies, Soon as the rising eagle cuts the air: The shaggy wolf unseen and trembling lies, When the hoarse roar proclaims the lion neer. 111.starr'd did we our forts and lines forsake, To dare our British foes to open fight; Our conquest we by stratagem fhould make: Our triumph had been founded in our flight. 'Tis ours, by craft and by furprize to gain : *Tis theirs, to meet in arms, and battle in the plain.

XXII. The ancient father of this hostile brood, Their boasted Brute, undaunted snatch'd his gods From burning Troy, and Xanthus red with blood And fix'd on Glver Thames his dire abodes;


E And this be Troynovante, he said, the feat By heav'n ordain'd, my fons, your lasting place; Superior here to all the bolts of fate Live, mindful of the author of your race, Whom neither Greece, nor war, nor want, nor flame, Nor great Peleides' arm, nor Juno's rage could tame.

XXIII. Their Tudors hence, and Stuart's off-spring flow: Hence Edward, dreadful with his fable shield, Talbot to Gallia's pow'r eternal foe, And Seymour, fam'd in council, or in field ; Hence Nevil, great to settle or dethrone, And Drake, and Ca'ndih, terrors of the fea: Hence Butler's fons, o'er land and ocean known, Herbet's and Churchill's warring progeny : Hence the long roll which Gallia should conceal: For oh! who, vanquilh'd, loves the victor's fame to tell!

Envy'd Britannia, sturdy as the oak,
Which on her mountain-top the proudly bears,
Eludes the ax, and sprouts against the stroke;
Strong from her wounds, and greater by her ware.
And as those teeth, which Cadmus sow'd in earth,
Produc'd new youth, and furnith'd fresh supplies:
So with young vigour, and succeeding birth,
Her loffes more than recompens'd arise;
And ev'ry age she with a race is crown'd,
For letters more polite, in battles more renown'd.

Obftinate pow'r whom nothing can repel;
Not the fierce Saxon, nor the Dane.

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Nor deep impression of the Norman steel,
Nor Europe's force amass'd by envious Spain,
Nor France on universal (way intent,
Oft breaking leagues, and oft renewing wars;
Nor (frequent bane of weaken'd government)
Their own inteftine feuds, and mutual jars ;
Those feuds and jars, in which I trusted more,
Than in my troops, and fleets, and all the Gallicpow's.

To fruitful Rheims, or fair Lutetia's gate,
What tidings Mall the messenger convey?
Shall the loud herald our success relate,
Or mitred priest appoint the folemn day?
Alas! my praises they no more must ling;
They to my.ftatue now must bow no more:
Broken, fepuls'd is their immortal king :
Fall'n, fall’n for ever is the Gallic pow's
The Woman chief is master of the war:
Earth she has freed.by arms, and vanquish'd heav'n by

While thus the ruin'd foe's despair commends
Thy council and thy deed, victorious queen,
What fall thy subjects say, and what thy friends ?
Now shall thy triumphs in our joy be seen?
Oh ! deign to let the eldest of the Nine
Recite Britannia great, and Gallia free:
Oh ! with her filter Sculpture let her join
To raise, great Anne, the monument to thee;
To thee, of all our good the sacred spring;
To theç our deareft dread; to thee, our softer King.

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