Me all too mean for such a task I weet;
Yet, if the Sovereign Lady deigns to smile,
I'll follow Horace with impetuous heat,
And clothe the verse in Spenser's native style.
By these examples rightly taught to sing,
And smit 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 shall in my numbers read Anna's immortal fame, and Marlborough's hardy deed.
As the strong eagle in the silent wood, Mindless of warlike rage and hostile care, Plays round the rocky cliff or crystal flood, Till by Jove's high behests called out to war, And charged with thunder of his angry king, His bosom with the vengeful message glows; Upward the noble bird directs his wing,
And, towering round his master's earth-born foes, Swift he collects his fatal stock of ire,
Lifts his fierce talon high, and darts the forkèd fire.
Sedate and calm thus victor Marlborough sate, Shaded with laurels, in his native land,
Till Anna calls him from his soft retreat,
And gives her second thunder to his hand.
Then, leaving sweet repose and gentle ease,
With ardent speed he seeks the distant foe;
Marching o'er hills and vales, o'er rocks and seas,
He meditates, and strikes the wondrous blow.
Our thought flies slower than our general's fame:
Grasps he the bolt? we ask, when he has hurled the
flame.
When fierce Bavar on Judoign's spacious plain Did from afar the British chief behold,
Betwixt despair, and rage, and hope, and pain,
Something within his warring bosom rolled:
He views that favourite of indulgent fame,
Whom whilom he had met on Ister's shore;
Too well, alas! the man he knows the same,
Whose prowess there repelled the Boyan power,
And sent them trembling through the frighted lands,
Swift as the whirlwind drives Arabia's scattered
His former losses he forgets to grieve;
Absolves his fate, if with a kinder ray
It now would shine, and only give him leave
To balance the account of Blenheim's day.
So the fell lion in the lonely glade,
His side still smarting with the hunter's spear,
Though deeply wounded, no way yet dismayed,
Roars terrible, and meditates new war;
In sullen fury traverses the plain,
To find the venturous foe, and battle him again.
Misguided prince, no longer urge thy fate,
Nor tempt the hero to unequal war;
Famed in misfortune, and in ruin great,
Confess the force of Marlborough's stronger star.
Those laurel groves the merits of thy youth,
Which thou from Mahomet didst greatly gain,
While, bold assertor of resistless truth,
Thy sword did godlike liberty maintain,
1 The Elector of Bavaria had formerly acquired great reputation by the success of his arms against the Turks, more especially in obliging them to raise the siege of Vienna, after it had continued fifty-nine days, in September 1683, with the loss of seventy-five thousand men.
Must from thy brow their falling honours shed,
And their transplanted wreaths must deck a worthier
head.
Yet cease the ways of Providence to blame,
And human faults with human grief confess,
'Tis thou art changed, while Heaven is still the same;
From thy ill councils date thy ill success.
Impartial Justice holds her equal scales,
Till stronger Virtue does the weight incline;
If over thee thy glorious foe prevails,
He now defends the cause that once was thine.
Righteous the war, the champion shall subdue;
For Jove's great handmaid, Power, must Jove's
decrees pursue.
11 Hark! the dire trumpets sound their shrill alarms! Auverquerque,1 branched from the renowned Nas
Hoary in war, and bent beneath his arms,
His glorious sword with dauntless courage draws.
When anxious Britain mourned her parting lord,
And all of William that was mortal died;
The faithful hero had received his sword
From his expiring master's much loved side.
Oft from its fatal ire has Louis flown,
Where'er great William led, or Maese and Sambre
But brandished high, in an ill-omened hour
To thee, proud Gaul, behold thy justest fear,
The master sword, disposer of thy power:
"Tis that which Cæsar gave the British peer.
1 Monsieur Auverquerque who, in the year 1704, and the succeeding campaigns, was appointed to the command of the Dutch forces. He was in great favour with King William, and was present at his death.
He took the gift; nor ever will I sheathe
This steel (so Anna's high behests ordain),
The general said, unless by glorious death
Absolved, till conquest has confirmed your reign.
Returns like these our mistress bids us make,
When from a foreign prince a gift her Britons take.
And now fierce Gallia rushes on her foes,
Her force augmented by the Boyan bands;
So Volga's stream, increased by mountain snows,
Rolls with new fury down through Russia's lands.
Like two great rocks against the raging tide
(If Virtue's force with Nature's we compare),
Unmoved the two united chiefs abide,
Sustain the impulse, and receive the war.
Round their firm sides in vain the tempest beats;
And still the foaming wave with lessened power
The rage dispersed, the glorious pair advance,
With mingled anger and collected might,
To turn the war, and tell aggressing France,
How Britain's sons and Britain's friends can fight.
On conquest fixed, and covetous of fame,
Behold them rushing through the Gallic host;
Through standing corn so runs the sudden flame,
Or eastern winds along Sicilia's coast.
They deal their terrors to the adverse nation:
Pale death attends their arms, and ghastly desolation.
But while with fiercest ire Bellona glows,
And Europe rather hopes than fears her fate;
While Britain presses her afflicted foes;
What horror damps the strong, and quells the great!
Whence look the soldier's cheeks dismayed and pale;
Erst ever dreadful, know they now to dread?
The hostile troops, I ween, almost prevail,
And the pursuers only not recede!
Alas! their lessened 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 sound:
I saw him fall, their thunderbolt of war;
Ever to vengeance sacred be the ground.
Vain wish! short joy! the hero mounts again
In greater glory, and with fuller light;
The evening-star so falls into the main,
To rise at morn more prevalently bright.
He rises safe,' but near, too near his side,
A good man's grievous loss, a faithful servant died.
Propitious Mars! the battle is regained,
The foe with lessened wrath disputes the field,
The Briton fights, by favouring gods sustained,
Freedom must live, and lawless power must yield.
Vain now the tales which fabling poets tell,
That wavering Conquest still desires to rove!
In Marlborough's camp the goddess knows to dwell;
Long as the hero's life remains her love.
Again France flies, again the duke pursues,
And on Ramilia's plains he Blenheim's fame renews.
Great thanks, O captain great in arms! receive
From thy triumphant country's public voice;
1 At the Battle of Ramilies the Duke of Marlborough was twice in the most imminent danger; once by a fall from his horse, and a second time by a cannon shot that took off the head of Colonel Bringfield as he was holding the stirrup for his Grace to remount.
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