Methinks I hear the drums tumultuous found,
The victors shouts and dying groans confound;
The dreadful burft of cannon rend the skies,
And all the thunder of the battle rife!

'Twas then great Marlbro's mighty foul was prov'd
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd,
Amidst confùfion, horror, and despair,
Examin'd all the dreadful fcenes of war:
In peaceful thought the field of death furvey'd;
To fainting fquadrons fent the timely aid;
Infpir'd repuls'd battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So, when an angel, by Divine command,
With rifing tempefts fhakes a guilty land,
(Such as of late o'er pale Britannia pafs'd) 1
Calm and ferene he drives the furious blaft;
And, pleas'd' th' Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the ftorm.

But fee! the haughty houfhold troops advance,
The dread of Europe, and the pride of France:
The war's whole art each private foldier knows,
And with a gen'ral's love of conqueft glows.
Proudly he marches on; and, void of fear,
Laughs at the shaking of the British spear.
Vain infolence! with native freedom brave,
The meanest Briton fcorns the highest flave;
Contempt and fury fire their fouls by turns,
Each nation's glory in each warrior burns;
Each fights as in his arm th' important day,
And all the fate of his great monarch, lay:
A thoufand glorious actions, that might claim
Triumphant laurels and immortal fame,
Confus'd in crowds of glorious actions lie,
And troops of heroes undiftinguish'd die.
O Dormer! how can I behold thy fate,
And not the wonders of thy youth relate!

How can I fee the gay, the brave, the young,
Fall in the cloud of war, and lie unfung!
In joys of conqueft he refigns his breath;
And, fill'd with England's glory, fmiles in death!

The rout begins; the Gallick fquadrons run, Compell'd in crowds to meet the fate they shun; Thousands of fiery fteeds, with wounds transfix'd, Floating in gore, with their dead masters mix'd, Midft heaps of fpears and ftandards driv'n around, Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drown'd. Troops of bold youths, borne on the diftant Soane, Or founding borders of the rapid Rhône;

Or where the Siene her flow'ry fields divides,
Or where the Loire thro' winding vineyards glides,
In heaps the rolling billows fweep away,
And into Scythian feas their bloated corfe' convey.
From Blenheim's tow'rs the Gaul, with wild affright,
Beholds the various havock of the fight:

His waving banners, that fo oft had stood

Planted in fields of death and ftreams of blood;
So wont the guarded enemy to reach,

And rife triumphant in the fatal breach;
Or pierce the broken foe's remoteft lines;
The hardy veteran with tears refigns.

Unfortunate Talfard!-oh! who can name
The pangs of rage, of forrow, and of fhame,
That with mix'd tumult in thy bofom fwell'd,
When fifft thou faw'ft thy braveft troops repell'd!
Thine only fon piere'd with a deadly wound,
Choak'd in his blood, and gasping on the ground!
Thyself in bondage by the victor kept!
The chief, the father, and the captive, wept.
An English Mufe is touch'd with gen'rous woe,
And in th' unhappy man forgets the foe."
Greatly diftrefs'd! thy loud complaints forbear;
Blame not the turns of Fate and chance of war:

Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own
The fatal field by fuch great leaders won;
The field whence fam'd Eugenio bore away
Only the fecond honours of the day.

With floods of gore that from the vanquish'd fell,
The marshes ftagnate, and the rivers fwell.
Mountains of flain lie heap'd upon the ground,
Or midft the roarings of the Danube drown'd:
Whole captive hofts the conqueror detains
In painful bondage and inglorious chains.
E'en those who 'scape the fetters and the fword,
Nor feek the fortunes of a happier lord;
Their raging king dishonours, to compleat
Malbrô's great work, and finish the defeat.

From Memminghen's high domes and Augfburg's walls,
The diftant battle drives th' infulting Gauls:
Freed by the terror of the victor's name,
The refcu'd states his great protection claim;
Whilft Ulme th' approach of her deliv’rer waits,
And longs to open her obfequious gates.

The hero's breaft ftill fwells with great defigns;
In ev'ry thought the tow'ring genius fhines:
If to the foe his dreadful course he bends,
O'er the wide continent his march extends ;
If fieges in his lab'ring thoughts are form'd,
Camps are affaulted, and an army ftorm'd;
If to the fight his active foul is bent,
The fate of Europe turns on it's event!
What diftant land, what region, can afford
An action worthy his victorious sword?
Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat,
To make the series of his toils compleat?

Where the fwoln Rhine, rufhing with all it's force,
Divides the hoftile nations in it's course;

While each contracts it's bounds, or wider grows,
Enlarg'd or ftraiten'd as the river flows;

On Gallia's fide a mighty bulwark stands,
That all the wide-extended plain commands.
Twice, fince the war was kindled, has it try'd
The victor's rage, and twice has chang'd it's fide:
As oft whole armies, with a prize o'erjoy'd,
Have the long fummer on it's walls employ'd.
Hither our mighty chief his arms directs,
Hence future triumphs from the war expects;
And, tho' the Dog-ftar had it's courfe begun,
Carries his arms ftill nearer to the fun :
Fix'd on the glorious action, he forgets
The change of feafons and increase of heats.
No toils are painful that can danger show,
No climes unlovely that contain a foe.

The roving Gaul, to his own bounds reftrain'd,
Learns to encamp within his native land;
But foon as the victorious hoft he fpies,

From hill to hill, from ftream to ftream he flies:
Such dire impreffions on his heart remain
Of Marlbro's fword and Hockitet's fatal plain.
In vain Britannia's mighty chief befets
Their fhady coverts and obfcure retreats:
They fly the conqueror's approaching fame,
That bears the force of armies in his name.
Auftria's young monarch, whofe imperial Tway
Sceptres and thrones are deftin'd to obey;
Whose boafted ancestry fo high extends,
That in the Pagan gods his lineage ends;
Comes from afar, in gratitude to own
The great fupporter of his father's throne.
What tides of glory to his bofom ran,
Clafp'd in th' embraces of the godlike man!
How were his eyes with pleafing wonder fix'd,
To fee fuch fire with so much sweetness mix'd
Such eafy greatness, fuch a graceful port,
So turn'd and finish'd for the camp or court!

Achilles

Achilles thus was form'd with ev'ry grace,
And Nireus fhone but in the fecond place:
Thus the great father of almighty Rome
(Divinely flush'd with an immortal bloom
That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestow'd)
In all the charms of his bright mother glow'd.
The royal youth by Marlbro's prefence charm',
Taught by his counsels, by his actions warm'd,
On Landau with redoubled fury falls,
Discharges all his thunder on it's walls;
O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight,
And learns to conquer in the hero's fight.

The British chief, for mighty toils renown'd,
Increas'd in titles, and with conquests crown'd,
To Belgian coafts his tedious march renews,
And the long windings of the Rhine pursues ;
Clearing it's borders from ufurping foes,
And bless'd by rescu'd nations as he goes.
Treves fears no more, freed from it's dire alarms,
And Traerbach feels the terror of his arms:
Seated on rocks, her proud foundations shake,
While Marlbrô preffes to the bold attack ;
Plants all his batt'ries, bids his cannon roar,
And shows how Landau might have fall'n before.
Scar'd at his near approach, great Louis fears
Vengeance referv'd for his declining years;
Forgets his thirst of universal sway,
And scarce can teach his fubjects to obey:
His arms he finds on vain attempts employ'd,
Th' ambitious projects for his race destroy'd;
The works of ages funk in one Campaign,
And lives of millions facrific'd in vain.

Such are th' effects of Anna's royal cares.
By her Britannia, great in foreign wars,
Ranges thro' nations, wherefoe'er disjoin'd,
Without the wonted aid of fea and wind:

By