And thou, propitious ftar, whofe facred power
Prefided o'er the monarch's natal hour,
Thy radiant voyages for ever run,
Yielding to none but Cynthia and the Sun;
With thy fair afpect ftill illustrate Heaven;
Kindly preferve what thou haft greatly given:
Thy influence for thy Anna we implore :
Prolong one life; and Britain afks no more.
For virtue can no ampler power express,
Than to be great in war, and good in peace:
For thought no higher wish of blifs can frame,,
Than to enjoy that virtue ftill the fame.
Entire and fure the monarch's rule muft prove,
Who founds her greatnefs on her fubjects love;
Who does our homage for our good require;
And orders that which we should firft defire:
Our vanquish'd wills that pleafing force obey,
Her goodness takes our liberty away,
And haughty Britain yields to arbitrary fway.
Let the young Auftrian then her terrors bear,
Great as he is, her delegate in war :
Let him in thunder speak to both his Spains,
That in thefe dreadful ifles a woman reigns :
While the bright queen does on her fubjects shower
The gentle bleffings of her fofter power;
Gives facred morals to a vicious age,
To temples zeal, and manners to the stage;
Bids the chafte Mufe without a blush appear;
And Wit be that which Heaven and fhe may hear.
Minerva thus to Perfeus lent her fhield;
Secure of conqueft, fent him to the field:
The hero acted what the queen ordain'd;
So was his famé compleat, and Andromede unchain'd.
Mean time, amidft her native temples fate
The Goddefs, ftudious of her Grecian's fate,
Taught them in laws and letters to excéli,
In acting juftly, and in writing well.
Thus whilft fhe did her various power dispose,
The world was freed from tyrants, wars, and woes:
Virtue was taught in verfe, and Athens' glory rose.
To Monfieur BOILEAU DESPREAUX;
Occafioned by the Victory at BLENHEIM, 1704.
"Cupidum, pater optime, vires.
"Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis
"Agmina, nec fractâ pereuntes cufpide Gallos"-
SINCE, hir'd for life, thy fervile Mufe muft fing
Succeffive conquefts, and a glorious king;
Muft of a man immortal vainly boast,
And bring him laurels, whatfoe'er they coft :
What turn wilt thou employ, what colours lay
On the event of that fuperior day,
In which one English fubject's profperous hand
(So Jove did will; fo Anna did command)
Broke the proud column of thy mafter's praise,
Which fixty winters had conspir'd to raife?
From the loft field a hundred standards brought
Must be the work of Chance, and Fortune's fault:
Bavaria's stars must be accus'd, which thone,
That fatal day the mighty work was done
With rays oblique upon the Gallic fun :
Some Dæmon, envying France, mifled the fight;
And Mars mistook, though Louis order'd right.
When thy young Mufe invok'd the tuneful Nine,
To fay how Louis did not pafs the Rhine;
What work had we with Wageninghen, Arnheim,
Places that could not be reduc'd to rhyme!
And, though the Poet made his last efforts,
Wurts who could mention in heroic-Wurts?
But, tell me, hadst thou reason to complain
Of the rough triumphs of the laft campaign?
The Danube rescued, and the Empire fav'd,
Say, is the majefty of verfe retriev❜d?
And would it prejudice thy fofter vein,
To fing the princes, Louis and Eugene?
Is it too hard in happy verfe to place
The Vans and Vanders of the Rhine and Maefe!
Her warriors Anna fends from Tweed and Thames,
That France may fall by more harmonious names?
Canft thou not Hamilton or Lumley bear?
Would Ingoldiby or Palmes offend thy car?
* "En vain, pour te louer, &c." Ep. 4.
And is there not a found in Marlborough's name,
Which thou and all thy brethren ought to claim,
Sacred to verfe, and fure of endless fame ?
Cutts is in metre something harsh to read; Place me the valiant Gouran in his ftead: Let the intention make the number good : Let generous Sylvius fpeak for honest Wood. And though rough Churchill scarce in verse will stand, So as to have one rhime at his command; With ease the bard, reciting Blenheim's plain, May close the verse, remembering but the Dane. I grant, old friend, old foe, (for fuch we are Alternate as the chance of peace and war,) That we poetic folks, who must restrain Our measur'd sayings in an equal chain, Have troubles utterly unknown to those, Who let their fancy loofe in rambling profe. For inftance now, how hard is it for me To make my matter and my verse agree! "In one great day on Hochftet's fatal plain, "French and Barvarians twenty thousand slain : "Pufh'd through the Danube to the shores of Styx Squadrons eighteen, battalions twenty-fix: "Officers captive made, and private men, "Of thefe twelve hundred, of those thousands ten. "Tents, ammunition, colours, carriages,
"Cannon, and kettle-drums !"-fweet numbers these ! But is it thus you English bards compofe? With Runic lays thus tag infipid profe?
you fhould your Hero's deeds rehearse,
Give us a commiffary's lift in verfe?
Why, faith! Defpreaux, there's fenfe in what you say: I told you where my difficulty lay:
So vaft, fo numerous, were great Blenheim's spoils, They scorn the bounds of verse, and mock the Muse's toils.
To make the rough recital aptly chime,
Or bring the fum of Gallia's lofs to rhime,
'Tis mighty hard: what Poet would essay
To count the streamers of my lord mayor's day?
To number all the feveral dishes dreft
By honeft Lamb, laft coronation feast?
Or make Arithmetic and Epic meet,
And Newton's thoughts in Dryden's style repeat?
O Poet, had it been Apollo's will,
That I had shar'd a portion of thy fkill;
Had this poor breast receiv'd the heavenly beam;
Or could I hope my verfe might reach my theme;
Yet, Boileau, yet the labouring Muse should strive,
Beneath the fhades of Marlborough's wreaths to live;
Should call afpiring Gods to bless her choice;
And to their favourite ftrains exalt her voice,
Arms and a Queen to fing; who, great and good,
From peaceful Thames to Danube's wondering flood
Sent forth the terror of her high commands,
To fave the nations from invading hands,
To prop fair Liberty's declining caufe,
And fix the jarring world with equal laws.
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