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But, lo! when every better hope was past,
When every day of danger feem'd their last,
Far on the diftant ocean, they furvey,

Where a proud navy plows its warry way.
Nor long they doubted, but with joy defcry,
Upon the chief's tall top-mafts waving high,
The British crofs and Belgic lion fly.

Loud with tumultuous clamour, loud they rear
Their cries of ecstasy, and rend the air;
In peals on peals the shouts triumphant rife,
Spread swift, and rattle through the spacious skies;
While, from below, old ocean groans profound,
The walls, the rocks, the fhores, repel the found,
Ring with the deafening shock, and thunder all
around.

Such was the joy the Trojan youth exprefs'd
Who, by the fierce Kutilian's fiege diftrefs'd,
Were by the Tyrrhene aid at length releas'd;
When yourg Afcanius, then in ams first try'd,
Numbers and every other want fupply'd,
And haughty I urnus fron. his walis defy'd:
Sav'd in the town an empire yet to come,
And fix'd the fate of his imperial R me

But oh what verfe, what number, fhall reveal Thofe pangs of rage and grief the var quifh'd feel!

Who fhall retreating Philip's fhame impart,
And tell the anguifh of his labouring heart!
What paint, what speaking pencil shall exprefs
The blended paffions ftriving in his face!
Hate, indignation, courage, pride, remorse,
With thoughts of glory paft, the loter's greatest

curfe

Fatal ambition fay what wondrous charn:s Delude markind to toil for thee in arms! When all thy fpoils, thy wreath. in battle won, The pride of power, and glory of a cewn, When all war gives, v hen all the great can gain, Ev'n thy whole pleature, pays not half thy pain. All hail ye lofter, hapi ier arts of peace, Secur'd from harms, and bieft with learned cafe; In battles, blood, and perils hard, unskill'd, Which haunt the warrior in the fatal field; But chief, thee, goddcfs mufe! my verfe would raife,

4

And to thy own foft numbers tune thy praife; Happy the youth infpir'd, beneath thy fade, Thy verdant, ever-living laurels laid!

There, tafe, no pleasures, there no pains they?

know,

But thole which from thy facred raptures flow,

Nor wish for crowns, but what thy groves beflow.

Mc, nyn:ph divine! nor fcorn my humble prayer,
Receive unworthy, to thy kinder care,
Doom'd to a gentler though more lowly, fate,
Nor wishing once, nor knowing to be great ;
Me, to thy peaceful haunts, inglorious bring,
Where fecret thy celcflial fifters fing,

Paft by their facred hill, and fweet Caftalian

fpring

But nobler thoughts the vic or prince employ, And raife his heart with high triumphant jey; From hence a better courfe of time rolis on, And whiter days fucceffive feem to run,

W,

From hence his kinder fortune feems to date
The rifing glories of his future ftate,
From hence-But ch! too foon the hero mourns
His hopes deceiv'd, and war's inconftant turns.
In vain, his echoing trumpets loud alarms.
Provoke the cold Iberian lords to arms;
Careless of fame, as of their monarch's fate,
In fullen floth fupinely proud they fate;
Or to be flaves or free alike prepar'd,
Aud trufting heaven was bound to be their guard,
Untouch'd with shame, the noble strife beheid,
Nor once cffay'd to flruggle to the field;
But fought in the cold fhade, and rural feat,
An unmolested eafe and calm retreat :
Saw each contending prince's arms advance,
Then with a lazy dull indifference. [chance.
Turn'd to their reft, and left the world to
So when, commanded by the wife of Jove,
Thaumantian Iris left the realms above,
And twist descending on her painted be
Sought the dull god of fleep in fhades below;
Nodding and flow, his drowly head he rear'd,
And heavily the facred me ffage heard;
Then with a yawn at once forgot the pain,
And funk to his first floth and indolence again.
But oh, my mufe. th' ungrateful toil forfake,
Some task more pleafing to tl y numbers take,
Nor choose in melancholy trains to tell
Each harder chance the jufter caufe befel.
Or rather turn, aufpicious turn thy flight,
Where Marlborough's heroic arms invite,
Where highest deeds the poct's breaf inspire
With rage divine, and fan the facred fire.
Sce! where at once Ramilia's noble field
Ten thousand themes for living verfe fhall yield.
See where at once the dreadful objects rife,
At once they spread before ny wondering eyes,
And fhock my labouring foul with vaft furprise;
At once the wide-extended battles move,
At once they join, at once their fate they prove.
The roar afcends promifcuous; groans and cries,
The drums, the cannons' burft, the fhout, fupplies
One univerfal anarchy of noise.

One din confus'd, found mixt and loft in found,
Echoes to all the frighted cities round.

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Thick duft and fmoke in wavy clouds arife,
Stain the bright day, and taint the purer fkies;
While flashing flanies like lightning dart between,
And fill the horror of the fatal fcene.
Around the field, all dy'd in purple foam,
Hate, fury, and infatiate flaughter roam;
Discord with pleasure o'er the ruin treads,
And laughing wraps her in her tatter'd weeds;
While fierce Bellona thunders in her car,
Shakes terrible her feely whip from far,
And with new rage revives the fainting war.
So when two currents, rapid in their course,
Rush to a point, and meet with equal force,
I he angry billows rear their heads on high,
Dafhing aloft the foaming furges fly,
And rifing cloud the air with misty fpry;
The raging flood is heard from far to roar,
By listening fhepherds on the diftant shore,
While much they fear, what ills it fhould portend,
And wonder why the watery gods contend.

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High in the midft, Britannia's warlike chief, Too greatly bold, and prodigal of life,

Is feen to prefs where death and dangers call, Where the war bleeds, and where the thickeft fall,

He flies, and drives confus'd the fainting Gaul.
Like heat diffus'd, his great example warms,
And animates the focial warriors' arms,
Inflames each colder heart, confirms the bold,
Makes the young heroes, and renews the old.
In forms divine around him watchful wait
The guardian genii of the British state;
Justice and truth his steps unerring guide,
And faithful loyalty defends his fide;
Prudence and fortitude their Marlborough guard,
And pleafing liberty his labours cheer'd;
But chief, the angel of his queen was there,
'The union-crofs his filver fhicld did bear,
And in his decent hand he hook a warlike spear.
While victory celestial foars above,
Plum'd like the eagle of imperial Jove,
Hangs o'er the chief, whom fhe delights to blefs,
And ever arms his fword with fure fuccefs,
Dooms him the proud oppreffor to defroy,
Then waves her palm, and claps her wings for joy.
Such was young Ammon on Arbela's plain,
Or fuch the painter did the hero feign,
Where rushing on, and fierce, he feems to ride,
With graceful ardor, and majelic pride,

*

With all the gods of Greece and fortune on his fide.

Nor long Bavaria's haughty prince in vain. Labours the fight unequal to maintain; He fees 'tis doom'd his fatal friend the Gaul Shall share the shame, and in one ruin fall; Flies from the foe too oft in battle try'd, And heaven contending on the victor's fide; Then mourns his rafh ambition's crime too late, And yields reluctant to the force of fate. So when Æneas, through night's gloomy fhade, The dreadful forms of hoftile gods furvey'd, Hopeless he left the burning town, and fled : Saw 'twas in vain to prop declining Troy, Or fave what heaven had deftin'd to deftroy.

What vaft reward, O Europe, fhalt thou pay To him who fav'd thee on this glorious day! Blefs him, ye grateful nations, where he goes, And heap the victor's laurel on his brows.

In every land, in every city freed Let the proud column rear its marble head, To Marlborough and liberty decreed; Rich with his wars, triumphal arches raise, To teach your wondering fons the hero's praife! To him your skilful bards their verfe fhall bring, For him the tuneful voice be taught to fing, The breathing pipe fhall fwell, fhall found the trembling fring.

O happy thou! where peace for ever fmiles, Britannia! nobleft of the ocean's ifles, Fair queen! who doft amidst thy waters reign, And itretch thy empire o'er the fartheft main : What tranfports in thy parent bofom roll'd, When fame at Gift the pleafing story told !

* Le Biun

How didft thou lift thy towery front on high.
Not meanly conscious of a mother's joy,
Proud of thy fon as Crete was of her Jove,
How wert thou pleas'd heaven did thy choice
approve,

And fixt fuccefs where thou haft fixt thy love!
How with regret his absence didst thou mourn!
How with impatience wait his wifht return!
How were the winds accus'd for his delay!
How didit thou chide the gods who rule the fea,
And charge the Nereid nymphs to waft him on
his way!

At length he comes, he ceafes from his toil! Like kings of old returning from the sp ii; To Britain and his queen for ever dear,

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Ev'n his own Sunderland, in beauty's ftore So rich, the feem'd incapable of more, Now fhines with graces never known before. Fierce with tranfporting joy fae feems to burn, And each foft feature takes a sprightly turn; New Hames are feen to sparkle in her eyes, And on her blooming checks fresh rofes rife; The pleafing paffion heightens each bright hue, And feems to touch the finish'd piece anew, Improves what nature's bounteous hand had given, And mends the fairest workmanship of heaven. Nor joy like this in courts is only found, But fpreads to all the grateful people round; Laberious hinds inur'd to rural toil, To tend the flocks and turn the mellow foil, In homely guife their honeft hearts exprefs, And blefs the warrior who protects the peace, Who keeps the fee aloof, and drives afar The dreadful ravage of the wafting war. No rude destroyer cuts the ripening crop, Prevents the harvest, and deludes their hope; No helplefs wretches fly with wild amaze, Look weeping back, and fee their dwellings blaze; The victor's chain no mournful captives know, Nor hear the threats of the infulting foe, But freedom laughs, the fruitful fields abound, The cheerful voice of mirth is heard to found, And plenty doles her various bounties round. The humble village, and the wealthy town, Confenting join their happiness to own: What heaven and Anna's gentlest reign afford, All is fecur'd by Marlborough's conquering fword.

O facred, ever honour'd name! O thou! That wert our greateft William once below:

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What place foe'er thy virtues now poffefs Near the bright fource of everiafting blifs, Where'er exalted to etherial height,

Vainly in war's myfterious rules is wife,
Lurks where tall woods and thickest coverts rife,
And meanly hopes a conqueft from surprise.

}

Radiant with ftars, thou treadft the fields of Now with fwift horse the plain around them beats,

light,

Thy feats divine, thy heaven a-while for fake,
And deign the Britons' triumph to partake.
Nor art thou chang'd, but ftill thou shalt de-
light,

To hear the fortune of the glorious fight,
How fail'd oppreffion, and prevail'd the right.
What once below, fuch ftill thy pleafures are,
Europe and liberty are ftill thy care;
Thy great, thy generous, pure, immortal mind
Is ever to the public good inclin'd,
Is fill the tyrant's foc, and parren of mankind.
Behold where Marlborough, thy last best gift,
At parting to thy native Belgia left,
Succeeds to all thy kind paternal cares,
Thy watchful counfels, and laborious wars;
Like thee aspires by virtue to renown,
Fights to fecure an empire not his own,
Reaps only toil himself, and gives away a crown.
At length thy prayer, O pious prince is heard,
Heaven has at length in its own cause appear'd;
At length Ramillia's field atones for all
The faithlefs breaches of the perjur'd Gaul;
At length a better age to man decreed,
With truth, with peace, and justice, fhall fuc-
ceed;

freed.

}

Fall'n are the proud, and the griev'd world is
One triumph yet, my mufe, remains behind,
Another vengeance yet the Gaul shall find;
On Lombard plains, beyond his Alpine hills,
Louis the force of hoftile Britain feels:
Swift to her friends diftrefs'd her fuccours fly,
And diftant wars her wealthy fons fupply:
From flow unactive courts, they grieve to hear
Eugene, a name to every Erizon dear,
By tedious languishing delays is held
Repining, and impatient, from the field:
While facticus ftatefmen riot in excels,
And lazy priests whole provinces poff-le,
Of unregarded wants the brave complain,
And the ftary'd foldier fues for bread in vain;
At once with generous indignation warm,
Britain the treature fends, and bids the hero arc,
Straight eager to the field he speeds away,
There vows the victor Gaul hall dear repay
The spoils of Calcinato's fatal day:
Cheer'd by the prefence of the chief they love,
Once more their fate the warriors long to prove;
Reviv'd each foldier lifts his drooping head,
Forgets his wounds, and calls him on to lead;
Again their crefts the German eagles rear,
Stretch their broad wings, and fan the Latian air;
Grcely for battle and the prey they call,
And point great Eugene's thunder on the Gaul.
The chief command-, and foon in dread array
Onwards the moving legions urge their way;
With hardy marches and fuccessful hafte,
O'er every barrier forror are they paf'd,
Which nature or the failful foe had plac'd.
The fos in vain with Gullic arts attenda,
To merk which way the way leader bunda,

And oft advances, and as oft retreats;
Now fix'd to wait the coming force, he feems
Secur'd by fleepy banks and rapid ftreams;
While river-gods in vain exhaust their store;
From plenteous urns the gufhing torrents pour,
Rife o'er their utmost margius to the plain,
And ftrive to ftay the warrior's hafte in vain;
Alike they pass the plain and closer wood,
Explore the ford, and tempt the fwelling flood,
Unfhalen fill pursue the ftedfast course,

And where they want their way, they find it or they force.

But anxious thoughts Savoy's great prince infeft, And roll ill-boding in his careful breast; Oft he revolves the ruins of the great, And fadly thinks on loft Bavaria's fate, The hapless mark of fortune's cruel fport, An exile, meanly forc'd to beg fupport From the flow bounties of a foreign court. Forc'd from his lov'd Turin, his last retreat, His glory once and empire's ancient feat, He fees from far where wide deftructions fpread, And fiery fhowers the goodly town invade, Then turns to mourn in vain his ruin'd ftate, And curse the unrelenting tyrant's hate.

But great Eugene prevents his every fear,
He had refolv'd it, and he would be there;
Not danger, toil, the tedious weary way,
Nor all the Gallic powers his promis'd aid delay.
Like truth itself unknowing how to fail,

He fcorn'd to doubt, and knew he must prevail.
Thus ever certain does the fun appear,
Bound by the law of Jove's eternal year;
Thus conftant to his courfe fets cut at mora,
Round the wide world in twice twelve hours is

borne,

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From impious arms at length, ✪ Louis, cease! And leave at length the labouring world in peace, Left heaven disclose fome yet more fatal scene, Fatal beyond Ramillia or Turin;

Left from thy hand thou see thy fceptre torn,
And humbled in the dust thy loffes mourn:
Left urg'd at length thy own repining flave,
Though fond of burdens, and in bondage brave,
Pursue thy hoary head with curses to the grave.

AN EPISTLE TO FLAVIA.

ON THE SIGHT OF TWO PINDARIC ODES ON THE SPLEEN AND VANITY,

Written by a Lady*, ber Friend.

FLAVIA, to you with fafety I commend
This verse, the secret failing of your friend.
To your good nature I fecurely truft,
Who know, that to conceal, is to be just.
The mufe, like wretched maids by love undone,
From friends, acquaintance, and the light would

run:

Confcious of folly, fears attending fhame,
Fears the cenforious world, and loss of fame.
Some confident by chance the finds (though few
Pity the fools, whom love or verfe undo),
Whole fond compaffion foothes her in the fin,
And fets her on to venture once again.
Sure, in the better ages of old time,
Nor poetry nor love was thought a crime;

From heaven they both the gods best gifts were fent,

Divinely perfe& both, and innocent.

Then were bad poets and loose loves not known ; None felt a warmth which they might blush to

own.

Beneath cool fhades our happy fathers lay,
And spent in pure untainted joys the day:
Artlefs their loves, artlcfs their numbers were,
While nature fimply did in both appear,
None could the cenfor or the critic fear.
Pleas'd to be pleas'd, they took what heaven be-
fraw'd,

Nor were too curious of the given good.
At length, like Indians fond of fancy'd toys,
We loft being happy, to be thought more wife.
In one curs'd age, to punish verfe and fin,
Critics and hangmen, both at once, came in.
Wit and the laws had both the fame ill fate,
And partial tyrants fway'd in either state.
Ill-natur'd cenfure would be fure to damn
An alien-wit of independent fame,
While Bayes grown old, and harden'd in offence,
Was fuffer'd to write on in fpite of sense;
Back'd by his friends, th' invader brought along
A crew of foreign words into our tongue,

To ruin and enflave the free-born English fong;
Still the prevailing faction propt his throne,
And to four volumes let his plays run on;
Then a lewd tide of verfe, with vicious rage,
Broke in upon the morals of the age.

• Ascc Countess of Winchelsea.

The stage (whofe art was once the mind to move
To noble daring, and to virtuous love)
Precept, with pleasure mix'd, no more profeft,
But dealt in double-meaning bawdy jest :
The shocking founds offend the blushing fair,
And drive them from the guilty theatre.

Ye wretched bards! from whom thefe ills have fprung,

Whom the avenging powers have fpar'd too long,
Well may you tear the blow will furely come,
Your Sodom has no ten to avert its doom;
Unless the fair Ardelia will alone

To heaven for all the guilty tribe atone;
Nor can ten faints do more than such a one.
Since the alone of the poetic crowd
To the falfe gods of wit has never bow'd,
The empire. which the faves, fhall own her fway,
And all Parnaffus her blefs'd laws obey.

Say, from what facred fountain, nymph divine!
The treasures flow, which in thy verfe do fhine?
With what strange infpiration art thou bleft,
What more than Delphic ardour warms the

breaft?

Our fordid earth ne'er bred so bright a flame,
But from the fkies, thy kindred fkies, it came.
To numbers great like thine, th' angelic quire
In joyous concert tune the golden lyre;
Viewing, with pitying eyes, our cares with thee,
They wifely own, that "All is vanity;"
Ev'n all the joys which mortal minds can know,
And find Ardelia's verse the least vain thing below.
If Pindar's name to those bless'd manfions reach
And mortal muses may immortal teach,
In verfe like his, the heavenly nation raise
Their tuneful voices to their Maker's praise.
Nor fhall celeftial harmony disdain,
For once, to imitate an earthly strain,
Whole fame fecure, no rival e'er can fear,
But those above, and fair Ardelia here.
She who undaunted could his raptures view,
And with bold wings his facred heights purfue;
Safe through the Dichyrambic ftream the steer'd,
Nor the rough deep in all its dangers fear'd;
Not fo the reft, who with fuccefsless pain
Th' unnavigable torrent try'd in vain.

So Clelia leap'd into the rapid flood,
While the Etrufcans ftruck with wonder stood:
Amidst the waves her rash pursuers dy'd,
The matchless dame could only ftem the tide,
And gain the glory of the farther fide.

See with what pomp the antic mafque comes in
The various forms of the fantastic spleen.
Vain empty laughter, howling grief and tears,
False joy, bred by false hope, and falfer fears;
Each vice, each raflion which pale nature wears
In this odd menftrous medley mix'd appears.
Like Bayes's dance, confus'dly round they run,
Statefman, coquet, gay fop, and penfive nun,
Spectres and heroes, husbands and their wives,
With monkish drones that dream away their lives
Long have I labour'd with the dire disease,
Nor found, but from Ardelia's numbers, ease:
The dancing verfe runs through my fluggish.

veins,

Where dull and cold the frozen blood remains

Pale cares and anxious thoughts give way in hafte,
And to returning joy refign my breast;
Then free from every pain I did endure,
I blefs the charming author of my cure.
So when to Saul the great musician play'd,
The fullen fiend unwillingly obey'd,

And left the monarch's breast, to seek some fafer fhade.

SONG.

WHILE Sappho with harmonious airs
Her dear Philenis charms,

With equal joy the nymph appears
Diffolving in his arms.

Thus to themfelves alone they are What all mankind can give; Alternately the happy pair

All grant, and all receive.

Like the twin-ftars, fo fam'd for friends,
Who set by turns, and rife;
When one to Thetis' lap descends,

His brother mounts the skies.

With happier fate, and kinder care, Thefe nymphs by turns do reign, While ftill the falling does prepare The rifing to fustain.

The joys of either sex in love,

In each of them we read; Succeffive each to each does prove, Fierce youth and yielding maid.

EPIGRAM

TO THE TWO NEW MEMBERS FOR BRAMBER, 1708
THOUGH in the Commons Houfe you did prevail,
Good Sir Cleeve Moore, and gentle Mafter Hale;
Yet on good luck be cautious of relying,
Burgess for Bramber is no place to die in.
Your predeceffors have been oddly fated;
Afgill and Shippen have been both tranflated.

VERSES MADE TO A SIMILE OF POPE'S.

WHILE at our house the servants brawl,
And raise an uproar in the hall;
When John the butler, and our Mary,
About the plate and linen vary:
'Till the smart dialogue grows rich,
In fneaking dog! and ugly bitch!
Down comes my lady like the devil,
And makes them filent all and civil,
Thus cannon clears the cloudy air,
And scatters tempefts brewing there:
Thus bullies fometimes keep the prace,
And one fcold makes another conde.

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With little truth, but with a world of love.
Such forms on maids in morning flumbers wait,
When fancy first inftructs their hearts to beat,
When first they wish, and figh for what they
know not yet.

Frown not, ye fair, to think your lovers may
Reach your cold hearts by fome unguarded way;
Let Villeroy's misfortune make you wife,
There's danger ftill in darkness and surprise;
Though from his rampart he defy'd the foe,
Prince Eugene found an aquedu& below.
With easy freedom, and a gay addrefs,
A preffing lover feldom wants fuccefs:
Whilft the refpectful, like the Greek, fits down,
And wastes a ten years siege before one town.
For her own fake let no forfaken maid,
Our wanderer for want of love, upbraid;
Since 'tis a fecret, none fhould e'er confefs,
That they have loft the happy power to please.
If you fufpect the rogue inclin'd to break,
Break firft, and fwear you've turn'd him off a
week;

As princes when they refty ftatefmen doubt,
Before they can furrender, turn them out.
Whate'er you think, grave uses may be made,
As much, ev'n for inconstancy be said.
Let the good man for marriage rites defign'd,
With studious care, and diligence of mind,
Tura over every page of womankind;

* Seç, The Wild Goofe Clace,

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