To the fair Portrait of my fov'reign dame,
To that alone eternal be my claim.
My bright defender, and my dread delight,
If ever I found favour in thy fight;
If all the pains that for thy Britain's fake
My paft has took, or future life may take,
Be grateful to my Queen, permit my prayer,
And with this gift reward my total care.
Will thy indulgent hand, fair Saint, allow
The boon? and will thy ear accept the vow?
That, in defpite of age, of impious flame,
And eating Time, thy Picture, like thy fame,
Entire may last, that, as their eyes survey
The femblant fhade, men yet unborn may fay,
Thus great, thus gracious, look'd Britannia's Queen,
Her brow thus fmooth, her look was thus ferene ;
When to a low but to a loyal hand
The mighty Emprefs gave her high command,
That he to hoftile camps and kings should hafte,
To speak her vengeance, as their danger, paft;
To fay, the wills detefted wars to cease;
She checks her conqueft for her fubjects ease,
And bids the world attend her terms of peace.
Thee, gracious Anne, thee present I adore,
Thee, Queen of Peace-If Time and Fate have pow'r Higher to raise the glories of thy reign
In words fublimer and a nobler ftrain,
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse:
Here, Stator Jove, and Phoebus king of verse,
The votive tablet I suspend * * *
TO. MONSIEUR BOILEAU DESPREAUX,
Occafioned by the victory at Blenheim, 1704.
Cupidum, Pater optime, vires
Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis
Agmina, nec fracta percuntes cufpide Gallos..---Hor. Lib. II. Sat. <.
INCE, hir'd for life, thy fervile Muse must fing
Succeffive conquefts and a glorious King ;
Mult 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 profp'rous hand
(So Jove did will, fo Anna did command)
Broke the proud column of thy matter's praise,
Which fixty winters had confpir'd to raise?
From the loft field a hundred ftandards brought
Must be the work of Chance, and Fortune's fault.
Bavaria's ftars must be accus'd, which fhone,
That fatal day the mighty work was donę,
With rays oblique upon the Gallic fun.
Some demon envying France mifled the fight,
And Mars mistook, tho' Louis order'd right.
When thy young Mufe invok'd the tuneful Nine, To fay how Louis did not pass the Rhine,
What work had we with Wageninghen, Arnheim, 20
Places that could not be reduc'd to rhyme ?
And tho' the poet made his last efforts,
Wurts who could mention in heroic-Wurts?
But, tell me, haft thou reafon to complain
Of the rough triumphs of the last campaign?
The Danube refcu'd and the Empire fav'd,
Say, is the majesty 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 Maese?
Her warriors Anna fends from Tweed and Thames,
That France may fall by more harmonious names.
Canft thou not Hamilton or Lumley bear?
Would Ingold by or Palmes offend thy ear?
And is there not a found in Marlbrô's name
Which thou and all thy brethren ought to claim,
Sacred to verfe, and fure of endless fame ?
Cutts is in metre fomething harsh to read;
Place me the valliant Gouram in his ftead:
Let the intention make the number good;
Let gen'rous Sylvius speak for honest Wood.
And tho' rough Churchill scarce in verfe will ftand,
So as to have one rhyme at his command.
With ease the bard reciting Blenheim's plain,
May close the verse, rememb'ring 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 meafur'd fayings 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 verfe agree?
In one great day, on Hochflet's fatal plain,
French and Bavarians twenty thousand flain;
Pufh'd thro' 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,
Cannons, and kettle-drums,-fweet numbers these.
But is it thus you English bards compofe?
With Runic lays thus tag infipid profe? -
And when you fhould your hero's deeds rehearse, 65 Give us a commiffiary's lift in verse ?
Why, faith, Defpreaux, there's fenfe in what you I told you where my difficulty lay :
[fay; So vaft, fo num'rous, were great Blenheim's fpoils, 69 They icorn the bounds of verfe, and mock the mufe's To make the rough recital aptly chime,
Or bring the fum of Gallia's lofs to rhyme,
'Tis mighty hard: what poet would effay
To count the streamers of my Lord Mayor's day?
To number all the fev`ral dishes dreft
By honeft Lamb last coronation-feaft?
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 skill;
Had this poor breaft receiv'd the heav'nly beam,
Or could I hope my verfe might reach my theme;
Yet, Boileau, yet the lab'ring Mufe should strive
Beneath the fhades of Marlbro's wreaths to live;
Should call afpiring gods to blefs her choice,
And to their fav'rite's ftrain exalt her voice,
Arms and a Queen to fing, who, great and good,
From peaceful Thames to Danube's wond'ring 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.
The Queen fhould fit in Windfor's facred grove,
Attended by the gods of War and Love;
Both fhould with equal zeal her fimiles implore,
To fix her joys, or to extend her pow'r.
Sudden the Nymphs and Tritons fhould appear, And as great Anna fmiles difpel their fear; With active dance fhould her obfervance claim; With vocal fhell fhould found her happy name; Their mafter Thames fhould leave the neigh'bring By his ftrong anchor known and filver oar; Should lay his enfigns at his fov'reign's feet, And audience mild with humble grace entreat. To her, his dear defence, he should complain, 105 That whilft he bleffes her indulgent reign, Whilft further feas are by his fleets furvey'd, And on his happy banks each India laid,
His brethren Maefe, and Waal, and Rhine, and Saar,
Feel the hard burthen of oppreffive war;
That Danube scarce retains his rightful courfe
Against two rebel armies' neighb'ring force;
And all muft weep, fad captives to the Seine,
Unless unchain'd and freed by Britain's queen.
The valiant Sov'reign calls her gen'ral forth,
Neither recites her bounty nor his worth;
She tells him he muft Europe's fate redeem,
And by that labour merit her esteem
She bids him wait her to the facred hall,
Shews him Prince Edward, and the conquer'd Gaul;
Fixing the bloody cross upon his breast,
Says he must die, or fuccour the distrest.
Placing the faint an enblem by his fide,
She tells him Virtue arm'd must conquer lawless Pride. The hero bows obedient, and retires :
The Queen's commands exalt the warrior's fires:
His fteps are to the filent woods inclin`d,
The great defign revolving in his mind,
When to his fight a heav'nly form appears,
Her hand a palm, her head a laurel wears.
Me, the begins, the fairest child of Jove,
Below for ever fought, and blefs'd above;
Me, the bright fource of wealth, and pow'r and fame,
(Nor need I fay Victoria is my name)
Me the great Father down to thee has fent ;
He bids me wait at thy diftinguish'd tent,
To execute what Anna's with would have;
Her fubject thou, I only am her flave.
Dare, then, thou much belov'd by smiling Fate
For Anna's fake, and in her name, be great:
Go forth, and be to distant nations known,
My future fav'rite, and my darling fon :
At Schellenberg I'll manifeft, fuftain
Thy glorious caufe, and fpread my wings again,
Confpicuous o'er thy helm, in Blenheim's plain. 145
The goddefs faid, nor would admit reply,
But cut the liquid air, and gain'd the sky.
His high commiffion is through Britain known,
And thronging armies to his standard run;
He marches thoughtful, and he fpeedy fails;
(Bless him, ye Seas, and profper him, ye Gales!)
Belgia receives him welcome to her fhores,
And William's death with leffen'd grief deplores:
His prefence only must retrieve that lofs;
Marlbrough to her must be what William was:
So when great Atlas, from thefe low abodes
Recall'd, was gather'd to his kindred gods,
Alcides, refpited by prudent Fate,
Suftain'd the bail, nor droop'd beneath the weight.
Secret and swift behold the chief advance;
Sees half the empire join'd, and friend to France:
The British Gen'ral dooms the fight; his fword
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