He views that favourite of indulgent Fame,
Whom whilom he had met on Ifter's fhore;
Too well, alas! the man he knows the fame,
Whose prowefs there repell'd the Boyan power,
And fent them trembling through the frighted lands,
Swift as the whirlwind drives Arabia's scatter'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 fell lion in the lonely glade,
His fide ftill fmarting with the hunter's fpear,
Though deeply wounded, no-way yet dismay'd,.
Roars terrible, and meditates new war;
In fullen fury traverses the plain,
To find the venturous foe, and battle him again.
IX.
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 Marlborough's ftronger ftar.
Thofe laurel groves (the merits of thy youth),
Which thou from Mahomet didft greatly gain,
While, bold affertor of refiftlefs truth,
Thy fword did godlike liberty maintain,
Muft from thy brow their falling honours shed,
And their tranfplanted wreaths muft deck a worthier
Yet cease the ways of Providence to blame,
And human faults with human grief confefs,
'Tis thou art chang'd, while heaven is ftill the fame;
From thy ill councils date thy ill fuccefs.
Impartial Juftice holds her equal fcales,
Till stronger 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 Power muit Jove's decrees purfue.
Hark! the dire trumpets found their fhrill alarms! 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,
And all of William that was mortal died;
The faithful hero had receiv'd this fword
From his expiring master's much-lov'd fide.
Oft' from its fatal ire has Louis flown,
Where'er great William led, or Maefe and Sambre run.
XII.
But brandifh'd high, in an ill-omen'd hour
To thee, proud Gaul, behold thy jufteft fear,
The mafter-fword,. difpofer of thy power:
'Tis that which Cæfar gave the British peer.
He took the gift: Nor ever will I sheathe
This steel (fo Anna's high behests ordain'),
The General faid, unless by glorious death
Abfolv'd, till conqueft has confirm'd your reign.
Returns like these our mistress bids us make,
When from a foreign prince a gift her Britons take.
XIII.
And now fierce Gallia rushes on her foes,
Her force augmented by the Boyan bands;
So Volga's ftream, increas'd by mountain fnows,
Rolls with new fury down through 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 tempeft beats;
And ftill the foaming wave with leffen'd power retreats
The rage difpers'd, the glorious pair advance,
With mingled anger and collected might,
To turn the war, and tell-aggreffing France,
How Britain's fons and Britain's friends can fight.
On conqueft fix'd, and covetous of fame,
Behold them rushing through the Gallic host:
Through 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 desolation.'
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 strong, and quells the great!
Whence look the foldier's cheeks dismay'd and pale?
Erft ever dreadful, know they now to dread?
The hoftile troops, I ween, almost prevail;
And the purfuers only not recede.
Alas! their leffen'd rage proclaims their grief!
For, anxious, lo! they croud around their falling chief. XVI.
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 wifh fhort joy! the hero mounts again
In greater glory, and with fuller light:
The evening-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 loss, a faithful fervant died.
XVII.
Propitious Mars! the battle is regain'd:
The foe with leffen'd wrath difputes the field:
The Briton fights, by favouring gods fuftain'd
Freedom must live; and lawless power must yield.
Vain now the tales which fabling poets tell,
That wavering Conquests fill defires 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:
Thy country greater thanks can only give
To Anne, to her who made thofe arms her choice.
Recording Schellenberg's and Blenheim's toils,
We dreaded left thou fhould't thofe toils repeat:
We view'd the palace charg'd with Gallic fpoils,
And in thofe fpoils we thought thy praife compleat.
For never Greek we deem'd, nor Roman knight,
In characters like thefe did e'er his acts indite.
Yet, mindlefs ftill of ease, thy virtue flies A pitch to old and modern times unknown: Thofe goodly deeds which we fo highly prize Imperfect feem, great chief, to thee alone.
Those heights, where William's virtue might have staid, And on the fubject world look'd fafely down,
By Marlborough pass'd, the props and steps were made, Sublimer yet to raise his queen's renown:
Still gaining more, ftill flighting what he gain'd, Nought done the hero deem'd, while aught undone re main'd.
When fwift-wing'd Rumour told the mighty Gaul,, How leffen'd from the field Bavar was fled;
He wept the fwiftnefs of the champion's fall;
And thus the royal treaty-breaker faid :
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