Dreadful he draws; the captains wait the word, Anne and St. George the charging hero cries: Shrill Echo from the neighb'ring wood replies, Anne and St. George.-At that aufpicious fign The ftandards move, the adverse armies join. Of eight great hours Time measures out the fands, And Europe's fate in doubtful balance stands; The ninth, Victoria comes :-o'er Marlbrough's head Confefs'd the fits: the hoftile troops recede ;- Triumphs the goddefs, from her promife freed. The Eagle, by the British Lion's might Unchain'd and free, directs her upward flight; Nor did the e'er with ftronger pinions foar From Tyber's banks, than now from Danube's fhore. Fir'd with the thoughts which these ideas raise, And great ambition of my country's praise,
The English Mufe fhould like the Mantuan rife, 179 Scornful of earth and clouds, fhould reach the skies With wonder (though with envy still) purfu'd by human But we must change, the style—Just now I said [eyes. I ne'er was mafter of the tuneful trade;
Or the fmall genius which my youth could boast, In profe and bufinefs lies extinct and loft; Blefs'd if I may fome younger muse excite, Point out the game, and animate the flight; That from Marfeilles to Calais France may know, As we have conqu'rors, we have poets too, And either laurel does in Britain grow;
That, though amongst themselves, with too much heat, We fometimes wrangle when we fhould debate, (A confequential ill which freedom draws; A bad effect, but from a nobler caufe) We can with univerfal zeal advance
To curb the faithlefs arrogance of France, Nor ever fhall Britannia's fons refufe
To answer to thy Mafter or thy Mufe; Nor want juft fubject for victorious ftrains, While Mailbrough's arm eternal laurels gains, And where old Spenfer fung a new Eliza reigns. 201
HYMN TO THE SUN.
Set by Dr. Purcell*.
IGHT of the world, and ruler of the year, With happy (peed begin thy great career, And, as thou doft thy radiant journies run, Thro' every diftant climate own
That in fair Albion thou haft feen
The greateft prince, the brightest queen, That ever fav'd a land or bleft a throne,
Since first thy beams were fpread, or genial pow'r was
So may thy godhead be confest,
So the returning year be bleft, As his infant months beftow
Springing wreaths for William's brow, As his fummer's youth shall shed Eternal fweets around Maria's head.
From the bleffings they beftow
Our times are dated, and our æras move:
They govern and enlighten all below
As thou doft all above.
Active and fierce, like thee appear ;
Like thee, great fon of Jove, like thee,
When, clad in rifing majefty,
Thou marcheft down o'er Delos' hills confefs'd,
With all thy arrows arm'd, in all thy glory drefs'd.
Like thee, the hero does his arms employ
The raging Python to destroy,
And give the injur'd nations peace and joy.
From faireft years and time's more happy ftores Gather all the fmiling Hours;
Such as with friendly care have guarded
Patriots and kings in rightful wars;
Sung before their Majesties on new-year's day, 1694
No brighter in the year be found,
But that which brings the victor home in peace.
That great Maria all those joys may know Which from her cares upon her fubjects flow.
For thy own glory fing our Sov'reign's praife, God of verfes and of days;
Let all thy tuneful fons adorn
Their lafting work with William's name; Let chofen Mufes yet unborn
Take great Maria for their future theme ; Eternal ftructures let them raise
On William and Maria's praife; Nor want new fubject for the fong, Nor fear they can exhaust the store, Till Nature's music lies unftrung;
Till thou, great god, shalt lose thy double pow'r, And touch thy lyre, and fhoot thy beams no more. 78
THE FIRST HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS.
we to Jove felect the holy victim. Whom apter shall we fing than Jove himself,
The god for ever great, for ever king,
Who flew the Earthborn race, and measures right To heav'n's great 'habitants? Dictaan hear'st thou 5 More joyful, or Lycæan, long difpute
And various thought has trac'd.
Or Dictæ, ftudious of his country's praise.
The Cretan boasts thy natal place; but oft
He meets reproof deferv'd; for he, presumptuous, 10 Has built a tomb for thee who never know'st To die, but liv'ft the fame to-day and ever. Arcadian therefore be thy birth: great Rhea, Pregnant, to high Parrhafia's cliffs retir'd, And wild Lycæus, black with fhading pines; Holy retreat! fithence no female hither, Confcious of focial love and Nature's rites, Muft dare approach, from the inferior reptile To woman, form divine. There the bleft parent Ungirt her fpacious bofom, and difcharg'd
The pond'rous birth; fhe fought a neighb'ring spring To wash the recent babe in vain: Arcadia, (However ftreany now) aduft and dry,
Deny'd the goddess water; where deep Melas And rocky Cratis flow, the chariot smok'd
Obfure with rifing duft: the thrifty trav❜ller In vain requir'd the current, then imprison'd In fubterranean caverns: forefts grew Upon the barren hollows, high o'ershading The haunts of favage beasts, where now Iaon, And Erimanth incline their friendly urns. Thou, too, O Earth, great Rhea said, bring forth, And short shall be thy pangs. She faid, and high She rear'd her arm, and with her fceptre struck The yawning cliff: from its difparted height Adown the mount the gushing torrent ran, And cheer'd the vallies: there the heavenly mother Bath'd, mighty King, thy tender limbs; the wrapt them In purple bands; the gave the precious pledge To prudent Neda, charging her to guard thee Careful and fecret: Neda, of the nymphs That tended the great birth, next Philyre And Styx, the eldeft. Smiling, she receiv'd thee, And, confcious of the grace, abfolv'd her trust; Not unrewarded, fince the river bore
The fav'rite virgin's name; fair Neda rolls By Lepricon's ancient walls, a fruitful stream: Faft by her flow'ry bank the son of Arcas, Fav'rites of Heav'n, with happy care protect Their fleecy charge, and joyous drink her wave. Thee, god, to Gnoffus Neda brought the Nymphs And Corybantes thee, their facred charge, Receiv'd: Adrafte rock'd thy golden cradle: The Goat, now bright amidst her fellow stars, Kind Amalthea, reach'd her teat, diftent With milk, thy early food: the fedulous bee Diftill'd her honey on thy purple lips.
Around, the fierce Curetes (order folemn To thy foreknowing mother!) trod tumultuous Their mystic dance, and clang'd their founding arms, Industrious with the warlike din to quell
Thy infant cries, and mock the ear of Saturn.
Swift growth and wondrous grace, O heav'nly Jove, Waited thy blooming years: inventive wit And perfect judginent crown'd thy youthful act. 65
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