7

T

Yet rise, neglected nymph, avow thy flame,
Assert th' inspiring god, and greatly aim
To make thy numbers equal to thy theme.
From Heaven derive thy verse; to Heaven belong
The counsels of the wise, and battles of the strong.
To Heaven the royal Anna owes, alone,
The virtues which adorn and guard her throne;
Thence is her justice wretches to redress,
Thence is her mercy and her love of peace;
Thence is her power, her sceptre uncontrol'd,
To bend the stubborn, and repress the bold;
Her peaceful arts fierce factions to assuage,
To heal their breaches, and to sooth their rage;
Thence is that happy prudence, which presides
In each design, and every action guides;
Thence is she taught her shining court to grace,
And fix the worthiest in the worthiest place,
To trust at home Godolphin's watchful care,
And send victorious Churchill forth to war.

Arise, ye nations rescu'd by her sword,
Freed from the bondage of a foreign lord,
Arise, and join the heroine to bless,
Behold she sends to save you from distress;
Rich is the royal bounty she bestows,
'Tis plenty, peace, and safety from your foes.
And thou, Iberia! rous'd at length, disdain
To wear enslav'd the Gallic tyrant's chain.
For see! the British genius comes, to cheer
Thy fainting sons, and kindle them to war.
With her own glorious fires their souls she warms,
And bids them burn for liberty and arms.
Unhappy land! the foremost once in fame,
Once lifting to the stars thy noble name,
In arts excelling, and in arms severe,
The western kingdoms' envy, and their fear:
Where is thy pride, thy conscious honour, flown,
Thy ancient valour, and thy first renown?
How art thou sunk among the nations now!
How hast thou taught thy haughty neck to bow,
And dropt the warrior's wreath inglorious from
thy brow!

Like

Not thus of old her valiant fathers bore
The bondage of the unbelieving Moor,
But, oft, alternate, made the victors yield,
And prov'd their might in many a well-fought field;
Bold in defence of liberty they stood,
And doubly dy'd their cross in Moorish blood:
Then in heroic arms their knights excell'd,
The tyrant then and giant then they quell'd.
Then every nobler thought their minds did move,
And those who fought for freedom, sigh'd for love.
one, those sacred flames united live,
At once they languish, and at once revive;
Alike they shun the coward and the slave,
But bless the free, the virtuous, and the brave.
Nor frown, ye fair, nor think my verse untrue:
Though we disdain that man should man subdue,
Yet all the free-born race are slaves alike to you.
Yet, once again that glory to restore,
The Britons seek the Celtiberian shore.
With echoing peals at Anna's high command,
Their naval thunder wakes the drowsy land;
High at their head, Iberia's promis'd lord, [sword;
Young Charles of Austria, waves his shining
His youthful veins with hopes of empire glow,
Swell his bold heart, and urge him on the foe:
With joy he reads, in every warrior's face,
Some happy omen of a sure success;
Then leaps exulting on the hostile strand,
And thinks the destin'd sceptre in his hand.

VOL. IX.

Nor fate denies, what first his wishes name,
Proud Barcelona owns his juster claim,
With the first laurel binds his youthful brows,
And, pledge of future crowns, the mural wreath
Bnt soon the equal of his youthful years, [bestows.
Philip of Bourbon's haughty line appears;
Like hopes attend his birth, like glories grace,
(If glory can be in a tyrant's race)

In numbers proud, he threats no more from far,
But nearer draws the black impending war;
He views his host, then scorns the rebel town,
And dooms to certain death the rival of his crown.
Now fame and empire, all the nobler spoils
That urge the hero, and reward his toils,
Plac'd in their view, alike their hopes engage,
And fire their breasts with more than mortal rage.
Not lawless love, nor vengeance, nor despair,
So daring, fierce, untam'd, and furious are,
As when ambition prompts the great to war;
As youthful kings, when, striving for renown,
They prove their might in arms, and combat for

a crown.

Hard was the cruel strife, and doubtful long
Betwixt the chiefs suspended conquest hung;
Till, forc'd at length, disdaining much to yield,
Charles to his rival quits the fatal field.
Numbers and fortune o'er his right prevail,
And e'en the British valour seems to fail;
And yet they fail'd not all. In that extreme,
Conscious of virtue, liberty and fame,
They vow the youthful monarch's fate to share,
Above distress, unconquer'd by despair,
Still to defend the town and animate the war.
But, lo! when every better hope was past,
When every day of danger seem'd their last,
Far on the distant ocean, they survey,

Where a proud navy plows its watery way.
Nor long they doubted, but with joy descry,
Upon the chief's tall top-masts waving high,
The British cross 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 rise,
Spread swift, and rattle through the spacious skies;
While, from below, old Ocean groans profound,
The walls, the rocks, the shores repel the sound,
Ring with the deafening shock, and thunder all
around.

Such was the joy the Trojan youth express'd,
Who, by the fierce Rutilian's siege distress'd,
Were by the Tyrrhene aid at length releas'd;
When young Ascanius, then in arms first try'd,
Numbers and every other want supply'd,
And haughty Turnus from his walls defy'd:
Sav'd in the town an empire yet to come,
And fix'd the fate of his imperial Rome.

Those pangs of rage and grief the vanquish'd feel!
But oh! what verse, what numbers shall reveal
Who shall retreating Philip's shame impart,
And tell the anguish of his labouring heart!
What paint, what speaking pencil shall express
Hate, indignation, courage, pride, temorse,[curse.
The blended passions striving in his face!
With thoughts of glory past, the losers greatest

Fatal Ambition! say what wondrous charms
Delude mankind to toil for thee in arms!
When all thy spoils, thy wreaths in battle won,
The pride of power, and glory of a crown,
When all war gives, when all the great can gain,
E'en thy whole pleasure, pays not half the pain.

HH

All hail! ye softer, happier arts of peace,
Secur'd from harms, and blest with learned ease;
In battles, blood, and perils hard, unskill'd,
Which haunt the warrior in the fatal field;
Butchief, thee, goddess Muse! my verse would raise,
And to thy own soft numbers tune thy praise;
Happy the youth inspir'd, beneath thy shade,
Thy verdant, ever-living laurels laid!
There, safe, no pleasures, there no pains they know,
But those which from thy sacred raptures flow,
Nor wish for crowns, but what thy groves bestow.
Me, nymph divine! nor scorn 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 secret thy celestial sisters sing,
Fast by their sacred hill, and sweet Castalian spring.
But nobler thoughts the victor prince employ,
And raise his heart with high triumphant joy;
From hence a better course of time roll on,
And whiter days successive seem to run.
From hence his kinder fortune seems to date
The rising glories of his future state,

From hence!-But oh! too soon the hero mourns
His hopes deceiv'd, and wars inconstant 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 sullen sloth supinely proud they sate;
Or to be slaves or free alike prepar'd,
And trusting Heaven was bound to be their guard,
Untouch'd with shame the noble strife beheld,
Nor once essay'd to struggle to the field;
But sought in the cold shade and rural seat,
An unmolested ease and calm retreat:
Saw each contending prince's arms advance,
Then with a lazy dull indifference

Turn'd to their rest, and left the world to chance.
So when, commanded by the wife of Jove,
Thaumantian Iris left the realms above,
And swift descending on her painted bow,
Sought the dull god of sleep in shades below;
Nodding and slow, his drowsy head he rear'd
And heavily the sacred message heard;
Then with a yawn at once forgot the pain,
And sunk to his first sloth and indolence again.
But oh, my Muse! th' ungrateful toil forsake,
Some task more pleasing to thy numbers take,
Nor choose in melancholy strains to tell
Each harder chance the juster cause befel.
Or rather turn, auspicious turn thy flight,
Where Marlborough's heroic arms invite,
Where highest deeds the poet's breast inspire
With rage divine, and fan the sacred fire.
See! where at once Ramillia's noble field
Ten thousand themes for living verse shall yield.
See! where at once the dreadful objects rise,
At once they spread before my wondering eyes,
And shock my labouring soul with vast surprise;
At once the wide-extended battles move,
At once they join, at once their fate they prove.
The roar ascends promiscuous;

cries,

groans and

The drums, the cannons' burst, the shout, supplies
One universal anarchy of noise.

One din confus'd, sound mixt and lost in sound,
Echoes to all the frighted cities round.
Thick dust and smoke in wavy clouds arise,
Stain the bright day, and taint the purer skies;

While flashing flames like lightning dart between,
And fill the horror of the fatal scene.
Around the field, all dy'd in purple foam,
Hate, fury, and insatiate slaughter 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 steely 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,
The angry billows rear their heads on high,
Dashing aloft the foaming surges fly,
And, rising, cloud the air with misty spry;
The raging flood is heard from far to roar,
By listening shepherds on the distant shore,
While much they fear, what ills it should portend,
And wonder why the watery gods contend.

High in the midst, Britannia's warlike chief,
Too greatly bold, and prodigal of life,
Is seen to press where death and dangers call, [fall,
Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest
He flies, and drives confus'd the fainting Gaul.
Like heat diffus'd, his great example warms,
And animates the social 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 side;
Prudence and Fortitude their Marlborough guard,
And pleasing Liberty his labours cheer'd;
But chief, the angel of his queen was there,
The union-cross his silver shield did bear,
And in his decent hand he shook a warlike spear.
While Victory celestial soars above,
Plum'd like the eagle of imperial Jove,
Hangs o'er the chief, whom she delights to bless,
And ever arms his sword with sure success,
Dooms him the proud oppressor to destroy,
Then waves her palm, and claps her wings for joy.
Such was young Ammon on Arbela's plain,
Or such the painter1 did the hero feign,
Where rushing on, and fierce, he seems to ride,
With graceful ardor, and majestic pride,
With all the gods of Greece and fortune on his sied
Nor long Bavaria's haughty prince in vain.
Labours the fight unequal to maintain;
He sees '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 side;
Then mourns his rash ambition's crime too late,
And yields reluctant to the force of fate.
So when Æneas, through night's gloomy shade,
The dreadful forms of hostile gods survey'd,
Hopeless he left the burning town and fled:
Saw 'twas in vain to prop declining Troy,
Or save what Heaven had destin'd to destroy.

What vast reward, Europe, shalt thou pay
To him who sav'd thee on this glorious day!
Bless 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,

Le Brun.

To teach your wondering sons the hero's praise!
To him your skilful bards their verse shall bri ng
For him the tuneful voice be taught to sing,
The breathing pipe shall swell, shall sound the
trembling string.

O happy thou! where peace for ever smiles,
Britannia! noblest of the ocean's isles,
Fair queen! who dost amidst thy waters reign,
And stretch thy empire o'er the farthest main:
What transports in thy parent bosom roll'd,
When fame at first the pleasing story told!
How didst thou lift thy towery front on high!
Not meanly conscious of a mother's joy,
Proud of thy son as Crete was of her Jove,[prove,
How wert thou pleas'd Heaven did thy choice ap-
And fix'd success where thou hast fix'd thy love!
How with regret his absence didst thou mourn!
How with impatience wait his wish'd return!
How were the winds accus'd for his delay!
How didst thou chide the gods who rule the sea,
And charge the Nereid nymphs to waft him on his
At length he comes, he ceases from his toil![way!
Like kings of old returning from the spoil;
To Britain and his queen for ever dear,

He comes, their joy and grateful thanks to share;
Lowly he kneels before the royal seat,
And lays its proudest wreaths at Anna's feet.
While, form'd alike for labours or for ease,
In camps to thunder, or in courts to please, [care,
Britain's bright nymphs make Marlborough their
In all his dangers, all his triumphs, share.
Conquering helends the well-pleas'd fair new grace,
And adds fresh lustre to each beauteous face;
Britain preserv'd by his victorious arms,
With wondrous pleasure each fair bosom warms,
Lightens in all their eyes, and doubles all their
E'en his own Sunderland, in beauty's store[charms.
So rich, she seem'd incapable of more,
Now shines with graces never known before.
Fierce with transporting joy she seems to burn,
And each soft feature takes a sprightly turn;
New flames are seen to sparkle in her eyes,
And on her blooming cheeks fresh roses rise;
The pleasing passion heightens each bright hue,
And seems to touch the finish'd piece anew,
Improves what Nature's bounteous hand had given,
And mends the fairest workmanship of Heave.
Nor joy like this in courts is only found,
But spreads to all the grateful people round;
Laborious hinds inur'd to rural toil,

To tend the flocks and turn the mellow soil,
In homely guise their honest hearts express,
And bless the warrior who protects the peace,
Who keeps the foe aloof, and drives afar
The dreadful ravage of the wasting war.
No rude destroyer cuts the ripening crop,
Prevents the harvest, and deludes their hope;
No helpless wretches fly with wild amaze,
Look weeping back, and see their dwellings blaze;
The victor's chain no mournful captives know,
Nor bear the threats of the insulting foe,
But freedom laughs, the fruitful fields abound,
The cheerful voice of mirth is heard to sound,
And plenty doles her various bounties round,
The humble village, and the wealthy town,
Consenting join their happiness to own:
What Heaven and Anna's gentlest reign afford,
All is secur'd by Marlborough's conquering sword.
O sacred, ever honour'd name! O thou!
That wert our greatest William once below!

What place soe'er thy virtues now possess
Near the bright source of everlasting bliss,
Where-e'er exalted to etherial height,
Radiant with stars, thou tread'st the fields of light,
Thy seats divine, thy Heaven a-while forsake,
And deign the Britons' triumph to partake.
Nor art thou chang'd, but still thou shalt delight,
To hear the fortune of the glorious fight,
How fail'd oppression, and prevail'd the right.
What once below, such still thy pleasures are,
Europe and liberty are still thy care;
Thy great, thy generous, pure, immortal mind
Is ever to the public good inclin❜d,
Is still the tyrant's foe, and patron 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 counsels, and laborious wars;
Like thee aspires by virtue to renown,
Fights to secure 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 faithless breaches of the perjur'd Gaul;
At length a better age to man decreed,
With truth, with peace, and justice shall succeed;
Fall'n are the proud, and the griev'd world is freed.

One triumph yet, my Muse, remains behind,
Another vengeance yet the Gaul shall find;
On Lombard plains, beyond his Alpine hills,
Louis the force of hostile Britain feels:
Swift to her friends distress'd her succours fly,
And distant wars her wealthy sons supply:
From slow unactive courts, they grieve to hear
Eugene, a name to every Briton dear,
By tedious languishing delays is held
Repining, and impatient, from the field:
While factious statesmen riot in excess,
And lazy priests whole provinces possess,
Of unregarded wants the brave complain,
And the starv'd soldier sues for bread in vain;
At once with generous indignation warm,
Britain the treasure sends, and bids the hero arm,
Straight cager to the field he speeds away,
There vows the victor Gaul shall dear repay
The spoils of Calcinato's fatal day:
Cheer'd by the presence of the chief they love,
Once more their fate the warriors long to
prove;

Reviv'd each soldier lifts his drooping head,
Forgets his wounds and calls him on to lead;
Again their crests the German eagles rear,
Stretch their broad wings, and fan the Latian air;
Greedy for battle and the prey they call,
And point great Eugene's thunder on the Gaul,
The chief commands, and soon in dread array
Onwards the moving legions urge their way;
With hardy marches and successful haste,
O'er every barrier fortunate they pass'd,
Which Nature or the skilful foe had plac'd.
The foe in vain with Gallic arts attends,
To mark which way the wary leader bends,
Vainly in war's mysterious rules is wise,
Lurks where tall woods and thickest coverts rise,
And meanly hopes a conquest from surprise.
Now with swift horse the plain around them beats,
And oft advances, and as oft retreats;
Now fix'd to wait the coming force, he seems,
Secur'd by steepy banks and rapid streams;

Nor all the Gallic powers his promis'd aid de- While nature simply did in both appear,

Swift to their rescu'd friends their joys they And drive them from the guilty theatre.

With life and liberty at once they cheer,
And save them in the moment of despair.

So timely to the aid of sinking Rome,
With active haste did great Camillus come:
So to the Capitol he forc'd his way,
So from the proud barbarians snatch'd his prey,
And sav'd his country in one signal day.

From impious arms at length, O Louis, cease!
And leave at length the labouring world in peace,
Lest Heaven disclose some yet more fatal scene,
Fatal beyond Ramillia or Turin;

Lest from thy hand thou see thy sceptre torn,
And humbled in the dust thy losses mourn;
Lest, urg'd at length, thy own repiuing slave,
Though fond of burthens, and in bondage brave,
Pursue thy hoary head with curses to the
grave,

Our sordid Earth ne'er bred so bright a flame,
But from the skies, thy kindred skies 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 wisely own, that "all is vanity;"
E'en 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 mansions reach,
And mortal Muses may immortal teach,
In verse like his, the heavenly nation raise
Their tuneful voices to their Maker's praise.
Nor shall celestial harmony disdain,
For once, to imitate an earthly strain,
Whose fame secure, 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 sacred heights pursue;
Safe through the Dithyrambic stream she steer'd,
Nor the rough deep in all its dangers fear'd;
Not so the rest, who with successful pain
Th' unnavigable torrent try'd in vain.

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

See with what pomp the antic masque comes in!
The various forms of the fantastic spleen.
Vain empty laughter, howling grief and tears,
False joy, bred by false hope, and falser fears;
Each vice, each passion which pale nature wears,
In this odd monstrous medley mix'd appears.
Like Bayes's dance, confus'dly round they run,
Statesman, coquet, gay fop, and pensive 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 verse runs through my sluggish veins,
Where dull and cold the frozen blood remains.
Pale cares and anxious thoughts give way in haste,
And to returning joy resign my breast;
Then free from every pain I did endure,
I bless the charming author of my cure.

So when to Saul the great musician play'd,
The sullen fiend unwillingly obey'd,

[shade,

And left the monarch's breast, to seek some safer

SONG.

WHILE Sappho with harmonious airs

Her dear Philenis charms,
With equal joy the nymph appears
Dissolving in his artns.

Thus to themselves alone they are

What all mankind can give; Alternately the happy pair

All grant, and all receive.

Like the twin-stars, so fam'd for friends,
Who set by turns, and rise;
When one to Thetis' lap descends,
His brother mounts the skies.

With happier fate and kinder care,
These nymphs by turns do reign,
While still the falling does prepare
The rising to sustain.

The joys of either sex in love,

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

EPIGRAM.

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

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 sneaking dog! and ugly bitch!
Down comes my lady like the devil,
And makes them silent all and civil
Thus cannon clears the cloudy air,
And scatters tempests brewing there:
Thus bullies sometimes keep the peace,
And one scold makes another cease.

ON NICOLINI AND VALENTINI'S
FIRST COMING TO THE HOUSE IN THE HAY-
MARKET.

AMPHION strikes the vocal lyre,
And ready at his call,
Harmonious brick and stone conspire
To raise the Theban wall.

In emulation of his praise

Two Latin signors come,

A sinking theatre to raise

And prop Van's tottering dome.
But how this last should come to pass
Must still remain unknown,

Since these poor gentlemen, alas!

Bring neither brick nor stone.

EPILOGUE TO THE INCONSTANT;

OR, THE WAY TO WIN HIM: A COMEDY. BY MR:
FARQUHAR. AS IT WAS ACTED AT THE THE-
ATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE, 1703. SPOKEN
BY MR. WILKS.

FROM Fletcher's great original1, to day
We took the hint of this our modern play:
Our author, from his lines, has strove to paint
A witty, wild, inconstant, free gallant:
With a gay soul, with sense and will to rove,
With language, and with softness fram'd to move,
With little truth, but with a world of love.

1 See, The Wild-Goose Chace.