From hence !---But oh! 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,
And trusting heaven was bound to be their guard,
Untouch'd with fhame, the noble ftrife beheld,
Nor once effay'd to struggle to the field;
But fought in the cold fhade, and rural seat,
An unmolefted eafe and calm retreat :
Saw each contending prince's arms advance,
Then with a lazy dull indifference
Turn'd to their reft, and left the world to chance.
So when, commanded by the wife of Jove,
Thaumantian Iris left the realms above,
And swift defcending on her painted bow,
Sought the dull god of fleep in fhades below;
Nodding and flow, his drowfy head he rear'd,
And heavily the facred meffage heard ;
Then with a yawn at once forgot the pain,
And funk to his first sloth and indolence again.
But oh, my Mufe! th' ungrateful toil forfake,
Some task more pleafing to the numbers take,
Nor choose in melancholy strains to tell
Each harder chance the juster caufe befel.
Or rather turn, aufpicious turn thy flight,
Where Marlborough's heroic arms invite,
Where highest deeds the poet's breast inspire
With rage divine, and fan the facred fire.
See! where at once Ramillia's noble field
Ten thousand themes for living verfe fhall yield.
See! where at once the dreadful objects rise,
At once they spread before my wondering eyes,,
And fhock my labouring soul with vast surprize ;
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 shout, fupplies
One universal anarchy of noise.
One din confus'd, found mixt and lost in sound, 215
Echoes to all the frighted cities round.
Thick duft and smoke in wavy clouds arise,
Stain the bright day, and taint the purer skies;
While flashing flames like lightening dart between, 220
And fill the horror of the fatal fcene.
Around the field, all dy'd in purple foam,
Hate, fury, and infatiate slaughter roam;
Difcord 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 furges fly,
And rifing cloud the air with misty spry;
The raging flood is heard from far to roar,
By liftening fhepherds on the distant shore,
While much they fear, what ills it fhould portend,
And wonder why the watery gods contend.
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 thickest 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 fteps unerring guide,
And faithful Loyalty defends his fide;
Prudence and Fortitude their Marlborough guard,
And pleafing Liberty his labours chear'd;
But chief, the Angel of his Queen was there,
The union-crofs his filver fhield did bear,
And in his decent hand he fhook a warlike fpear.
While Victory celeftial foars above,
Plum'd like the eagle of imperial Jove,
Hangs o'er the chief, whom she delights to bless,
And ever arms his fword with fure fuccefs,
Dooms him the proud oppreffor to deftroy,
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 majestic 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 fhame, 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 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 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 destroy.
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 sons the hero's praise;
To him your skilful bards their verse shall bring,
For him the tuneful voice be taught to fing,
The breathing pipe shall swell, shall found the trem-
bling ftring.
O happy thou where peace for ever smiles,
Britannia! nobleft of the ocean's ifles,
Fair queen who doft amidst thy waters reign,
And ftretch thy empire o'er the farthest main :
What transports in thy parent bosom roll'd,
When fame at first the pleasing story told !
How didft thou lift thy towery front on high!
Not meanly confcious 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 abfence didst thou mourn!
How with impatience wait his wifht return!
How were the winds accus'd for his delay!
How didft 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 spoil;
To Britain and his queen for ever dear,
He comes, their joy and grateful thanks to share;
Lowly he kneels before the royal feat,
And lays its proudeft wreaths at Anna's feet.
While, form'd alike for labours or for ease,
In camps to thunder, or in courts to please,
Britain's bright nymphs make Marlborough their care,
In all his dangers, all his triumphs, share.
Conquering he lends the well-pleas'd fair new grace,
And adds fresh luftre to each beauteous face;
Britain preferv'd by his victorious arms,
With wondrous pleasure each fair bofom warms,
Lightens in all their eyes, and doubles all their charms.
Ev'n his own Sunderland, in beauty's store
So rich the feem'd incapable of more,
Now fhines with graces never known before;
Fierce with transporting joy the feems to burn,
And each soft feature takes a sprightly turn;
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