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Yet cease the ways of Providence to blame, And human faults with human grief confess ; 'Tis thou art chang'd, 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.
Hark! the dire trumpets sound their shrill alarms !
Auverquerque, branch'd from the renown's Nassaus,
Hoary in war, and bent beneath his arms,
His glorious sword 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 sword
From his expiring master's much-lov'd fide.
Oft' from its fatal ire has Louis flown,
Where'er great William led, or Maese and Sambre run.
But brandish'd high, in an ill-omen'd hour
To thee, proud Gaul, behold thy justeft fear,
The master-sword, disposer of thy power:
'Tis that which Cæsar gave the British peer.
He took the gift: Nor ever will I sheathe
This steel (so Anna's high behests ordain),
The General said, unless by glorious death
Absolv'd, till conquest has confirm'd 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, increas'd by mountain snows,
Rolls with new fury down through Russia's landse
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 impulse, and receive the war.
Round their firm fides in vain the tempest beats ;
And still the foaming wave with lessen'd power retreats,
XIV. The rage dispers’d, 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 fix’d, and covetous of fame, Behold them rushing through the Gallic hoft: 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 soldiers' cheeks dismay'd 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 lessen'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 lö's found :
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 fo falls into the main,
To rise at morn more prevalently bright.
He rises safe, but near, too near his fide,
A good man’s grievous lofs, a faithful servant died.
Propitious Mars ! the battle is regain’d:
The foe with lefsen'd wrath disputes the field : .
The Briton fights, by favouring gods sustain’d:
Freedom must live ; and lawless power must yield.
Vain now the tales which fabling poets tell, .
That wavering Conquest ftill 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 :
Thy country greater thanks can only give
To Anne, to her who made those arms her choice.
Recording Schellenberg's and Blenheim's toils,
We dreaded left thou should'st those toils repeat :
We view'd the palace charg'd with Gallic spoils,
And in those spoils we thought thy praise complete.
For never Greek we deem’d, nor Roman knight,
In characters like these did e'er his acts indite.
XIX. Yet, mindless still of ease, thy virtue flies A pitch to old and modern times unknown : Those goodly deeds which we so highly prize Imperfect seem, great chief, to thee alone. . Those heights, where William's virtue might have staid, And on the subject world look'd safely 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 remain’d.
XX. When swift-wing'd Rumour told the mighty Gaul, How lessen'd from the field Bavar was fled ; He wept the swiftness of the champion's fall ; And thus the royal treaty-breaker said :
And lives he yet, the great, the loft Bavar,
Ruin to Gallia in the name of friend?
Tell me, how far has Fortune been fevere?
Has the foe's glory, or our grief, an end ?
Remains there, of the fifty thousand loft,
To save our threaten'd realm, or guard our shatter'd
To the close rock the frighted raven flies,
Soon as the rising eagle cuts the air ::
The shaggy wolf unseen and trembling lies,
When the hoarse roar proclaims the lion near.
Ill-ftarr’d did we our forts and lines forsake,
To dare our British foes to open fight:
Our conquest we by stratagem should make :
Our triumph had been founded in our flight.
'Tis ours by craft and by surprise to gain :
'Tis theirs, to meet in arms, and battle in the plain.
The ancient father of this hostile brood,
Their boasted Brute, undaunted snatch'd his gods
From burning Troy, and Xanthus red with blood,
And fix'd on silver. Thames his dire abodes :
And this be Troynovante, he said, the seat
By Heaven ordain’d, my sons, your lasting place :
Superior here to all the bolts of fate
Live, mindful of the author of your race,
Whom neither Greece, nor war, nor want, nor flame,
Nor great Pelides' arm, nor Juno’s rage, couldstame.