talents, and fweeten the defcription, so as to make it lovely as well as pompous: both have equally that agreeable manner of mixing morality with their story, and that Curiofa Felicitas in the choice of their diction which every writer aims at, and fo very few have reached: both are particularly fine in their images, and flowing in their numbers. Leaving therefore our two masters to the confideration and study of those who design to excel in poetry, I only beg leave to add, that it is long fince I have (or at leaft ought to have) quitted Parnaffus, and all the flowery roads on that fide the country; though I thought myself indifpenfably obliged, upon the prefent occasion, to take a little journey into thofe parts.
HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE QUEEN.
WHEN great conquring bands to foreign wars,
WHEN great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome,
Abroad when dreaded, and belov'd at home,
He faw his fame increafing with his years,
Horace, great bard, (fo fate ordain'd) arofe,
And, bold as were his countrymen in fight,
Snatch'd their fair actions from degrading profe,
And fet their battles in eternal light:
High as their trumpets tune his lyre he strung,
And with his prince's arms he moraliz'd his fong.
When bright Eliza rul'd Britannia's state,
Widely diftributing her high commands,
And, boldly wife and fortunately great,
Freed the glad nations from tyrannic bands,
An equal genius was in Spenfer found;
To the high theme he match'd his noble lays;
He travelled England o'er on fairy ground,
In myftic notes to fing his monarch's praise :
Reciting wondrous truths in pleasing dreams
He deck'd Eliza's head with Gloriana's beams.
But, greatest Anna! while thy arms purfue
Paths of renown, and climb afcents of fame,
Which nor Auguftus nor Eliza knew,
What poet fhall be found to fing thy name?
What numbers fhall record, what tongue fhall fay, 25
Thy wars on land, thy triumphs on the main ?
O fairest model of imperial fway!
What equal pen fhall write thy wondrous reign?
Who fhall attempts and feats of arms rehearse,
Nor yet by story told, nor parallel'd by verse?
Me all too mean for fuch a task I weet;
Yet if the fov'reign Lady deigns to fmile
I'll follow Horace with impetuous heat,
And clothe the verfe in Spenfer's native style :
By thefe examples rightly taught to fing,
And fmit with pleasure of my country's praise,
Stretching the plumes of an uncommon wing,
High as Olympus I my flight will raise,
And latest times fhall in my numbers read
Anna's immortal fame and Marlbro's hardy deed. 40
As the ftrong eagle in the filent wood,
Mindlefs of warlike rage and hoftile care,
Plays round the rocky cliff or crystal flood,
Till by Jove's high behefts call'd out to war,
And charg'd with thunder of his angry king,
His bofom with the vengeful meffage glows,
Upward the noble bird directs his wing,
And tow'ring round his master's earth-born foes,
Swift he collects his fatal ftock of ire,
Lifts his fierce talon high, and darts the forked fire. 50
Sedate and calm thus victor Marlborough fate,
Shaded with laurels, in his native land,
Till Anna calls him from his foft retreat,
And gives her fecond thunder to his hand :
Then leaving fweet repofe and gentle eafe,
With ardent speed he feeks the diftant foe,
Marching o'er hills and vales, o'er rocks and feas,
He meditates and trikes the wondrous blow.
Our thought flies flower than our General's fame;
Grafps he the bolt? (we ask) when he has hurl'd the
When fierce Bavar on Judoign's fpacious plain
Did from afar the British chief behold,
Betwixt defpair, and rage, and hope, and pain,
Something within his warring bofom roll'd:
He views that fav rite of indulgent Fame,
Whom whilom he had met on Ifter's fhore;
Too well, alas! the man he knows the fame
Whofe prowess there repell'd the Boyan pow'r,
And fent thein trembling thro' the frighted lands,
Swift as the whirlwind drives Arabia's fcatter'd fands.
VIII.
His former loffes he forgets to grieve;
Abfolves his fate if with a kinder ray
It now would fhine, and only give him leave
To balance the account of Blenheim's day.
So the feli lion, in the lonely glade,
His fide still smarting with the hunter's fpear,
Tho' deeply wounded, no way yet disinay'd,
Roars terrible, and meditates new war,
In fullen fury traverses the plain
To find the vent'rous foe, and battle him again.
Mifguided prince, no longer urge thy fate,
Nor tempt the hero to unequal war;
Fam'd in misfortune, and in ruin great,
Confefs the force of Marlbro's ftronger ftar.
Thofe laurel groves (the merits of thy youth)
Which thou from Mahomet didft greatly gain,
While, bold affertor of refiftless truth,
Thy fword did godlike Liberty maintain,
Muft from thy brow their falling honours shed,
And their transplanted wreaths mult deck a worthier
Yet ceafe the ways of Providence to blame,
And human faults with human grief confefs;
'Tis thou art chang'd, while Heav'n is ftill the fame;
From thy ill councils date thy ill fuccess:
Impartial Juftice holds her equal fcales,
Till ftronger Virtue does the weight incline;
If over thee thy glorious foe prevails,
He now defends the caufe that once was thine.
Righteous the war, the champion shall subdue,
For Jove's great handmaid, Pow'r, muft Jove's decrees
[purfue, Hark! the dire trumpets found their fhrill alarms! 101 Auverquerque, branch'd from the renown'd Naffaus, Hoary in war, and bent beneath his arms,
His glorious fword with dauntless courage draws.
When anxious Britain mourn'd her parting lord, 105
And all of William that was mortal dy'd,
The faithful hero had receiv'd this fword
From his expiring mafter's much-lov'd fide;
Oft from its fatal ire has Louis flown,
Where'cr great William led or Maefe and Sambre run.
But brandifh'd high, in an ill-omen'd hour
To thee, proud Gaul, behold thy justest fear,
The mafter-fword, difpofer of thy pow'r:
'Tis that which Cæfar gave the British peer.
He took the gift: Nor ever will I fheath
This fteel (fo Anna's high behefts ordain)
The General faid, unless by glorious death
Abfolv'd, till conqueft has confirm'd your reign.
Returns like thefe our mistress bids us make,
When from a foreign prince a gift her Britons take. 120
XIII.
And now fierce Gallia rufhes on her foes,
Her force augmented by the Boyan bands;
So Volga's ftream, increas'd by mountain fnows,
Rolls with new fury down thro' Ruffia'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 impulfe, and receive the war.
Round their firm 'fides in vain the tempest beats,
And still the foaming wave with lessen'd pow'r retreats,
XIV.
The rage difpers'd, the glorious pair advance,
With mingled anger and collected might,
To turn the war, and tell agreffing France
How Britain's fons and Britain's friends can fight.
On conqueft fix'd, and covetous of fame,
Behold them rushing thro' the Gallic host;
'Thro' ftanding corn fo runs the fudden flame, Or eastern winds along Sicilia's coast.
They deal their terrors to the adverfe nation:
Pale Death attends their arms, and ghaftly Defolation.
But while with fierceft ire Bellona glows,
And Europe rather hopes than fears her fate,
While Britain preffes her afflicted foes,
What horror damps the ftrong and quells the great?
Whence look the foldiers cheeks difmay'd and pale?
Erft ever dreadful, know they now to dread?
The hoftile troops, I ween, almoft prevail,
And the purfuers only not recede.
Alas! their leffen'd rage proclaims their grief!
For anxious, lo! they crowd around their falling chief.
I thank thee, Fate, exclaims the fierce Bavar;
Let Boya's trumpet grateful Iö's found;
I faw him fall, their thunderbolt of war :-
Ever to Vengeance facred be the ground-
Vain with! fhort joy! the hero mounts again
In greater glory, and with fuller light;
The ev'ning ftar fo falls into the main,
To rife at morn more prevalently bright.
He rifes fafe, but near, too near his fide,
A good man's grievous lofs, a faithful fervant dy'd. 160
XVII.
Propitious Mars! the battle is regain'd;
The foe with leffen'd wrath difputes the field:
The Briton fights, by fav'ring gods fuftain'd;
Freedom muit live, and lawless pow'r must yield.
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