Her generous fons in choiceft gifts abound,
Alike in arms, alike in arts renown'd.
As when sweet Venus (fo the fable fings)
Awak'd by Nereids, from the ocean fprings,
With smiles fhe fees the threatening billows rise,
Spreads fmooth the surge, and clears the louring skies..
Light, o'er the deep, with fluttering Cupids crown'd,
The pearly conch and filver turtles bound;
Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.
Amidst the world of waves fo ftands ferene
Britannia's isle, the ocean's stately queen ;
In vain the nations have confpir'd her fall,
Her trench the sea, and fleets her floating wall:
Defenceless barks, her powerful navy near,
Have only waves and hurricanes to fear.
What bold invader, or what land oppreft,
Hath not her anger quell'd, her aid redrest!~
Say, where have e'er her union-croffes fail'd,
But much her arms, her juftice more prevail'd!
Her labours are, to plead th' Almighty's caufe,
Her pride, to teach th' untam'd barbarian laws :
Who conquers wins by brutal strength the prize;
But 'tis a godlike work to civilize.
Have we forgot how from great Ruffia's throne The king, whofe power half Europe's regions own,, Whofe fceptre waving, with one shout rush forth In fwarms the harness'd millions of the north, Through realms of ice pursued his tedious way To court our friendship, and our fame survey! Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore, And round his empire fpread the learned store:
(T' adorn old realms is more than new to raise,
His country's parent is a monarch's praise.)
His bands now march in just array to war,
And Cafpian gulphs unusual navies bear;
With Runick lays Smolensko's forests ring,
And wondering Volga hears the Muses fing.
Did not the painted kings of India greet
Our queen, and lay their fceptres at her feet?
Chiefs who full bowls of hoftile blood had quaff'd,
Fam'd for the javelin, and invenom'd shaft,
Whofe haughty brows made favages adore,
Nor bow'd to lefs than ftars or fun before.
Her pitying smile accepts their fuppliant claim,
And adds four monarchs to the Chriftian name.
Bleft ufe of power! O virtuous pride in kings!
And like his bounty, whence dominion springs !
Which o'er new worlds makes heaven's indulgence shine,.
And ranges myriads under laws divine !
Well bought with all that those sweet regions hold,
With groves of spices, and with mines of gold.
Fearless our merchant now pursues his gain,
And roams fecurely o'er the boundless main.
Now o'er his head the polar bear he spies,
And freezing spangles of the Lapland skies;
Now fwells his canvas to the fultry line,
With glittering fpoils where Indian grottoes fhine,
Where fumes of incense glad the southern seas,
And wafted citron fcents the balmy breeze.
Here nearer funs prepare the ripening gem,
To grace great Anne's imperial diadem,
And here the ore, whose melted mass shall yield
On faithful coins each memorable field,
Which, mix'd with medals of immortal Rome,
May clear difputes, and teach the times to come.
In circling beams fhall godlike Anna glow,
And Churchill's fword hang o'er the proftrate foe;
In comely wounds shall bleeding worthies stand,
Webb's firm platoon, and Lumley's faithful band,
Bold Mordaunt in Iberian trophies dreft,
And Campbell's dragon on his dauntless breast,
Great Ormond's deeds on Vigo's spoils enroll'd,
And Guifcard's knife on Harley's Chili gold.
And if the Mufe, O Bristol, might decree,
Here Granville noted by the lyre should be,
The lyre for Granville, and the crofs for thee.
Such are the honours grateful Britain pays;
So patriots merit, and fo monarchs praise.
O'er diftant times fuch records fhall prevail,
When English numbers, antiquated, fail:
A trifling fong the Mufe can only yield,
And footh her foldiers panting from the field.
To fweet retirements fee them fafe convey'd,
And raife their battles in the rural fhade.
From fields of death to Woodstock's peaceful glooms,
(The poet's haunt) Britannia's hero comes-
Begin, my Mufe, and foftly touch the ftring:
Here Henry lov'd; and Chaucer learn'd to fing.
Hail, fabled grotto! hail, Elyfian foil!
Thou faireft fpot of fair Britannia's isle!
Where kings of old, conceal'd, forgot the throne,
And beauty was content to fhine unknown;
Where love and war by turns pavilions rear,
And Henry's bowers near Blenheim's dome appear ;.
The weary'd champion lull in foft alcoves,
The noblest boast of thy romantic groves.
Oft, if the Mufe prefage, fhall he be seen
By Rosamonda fleeting o'er the green,
In dreams be hail'd hy heroes' mighty fhades,
And hear old Chaucer warble through the glades,
O'er the fam'd echoing vaults his name fhall bound,
And hill to hill reflect the favourite found.
Here, here at least thy love for arms give o'er,
Nor, one world conquer'd, fondly with for more..
Vice of great fouls alone! O thirst of fame!
The Mufe admires it, while fhe ftrives to blame.
Thy toils be now to chace the bounding deer,
Or view the courfers ftretch in wild career.
This lovely scene fhall footh thy foul to reft,
And wear each dreadful image from thy breaft..
With pleasure, by thy conquefts fhalt thou fee
Thy queen triumphant, and all Europe free.
No cares henceforth fhall thy repose destroy,
But what thou giv'ft the world, thyfelf enjoy.
Sweet Solitude! when life's gay hours are past,
Howe'er we range, in thee we fix at last:
Toft through tempeftuous feas (the voyage o'cr)
Pale we look back, and blefs thy friendly fhore.
Our own ftrict judges our past life we scan,
And ask if glory hath enlarg’d the span :
If bright the profpect, we the grave defy,
Truft future ages, and contented die.
When strangers from far distant climes fhall come,
To view the pomp of this triumphant dome,
Where rear'd aloft diffembled trophies ftand,
And breathing labours of the fculptor's hand,
Where Kneller's art shall paint the flying Gaul,
And Bourbon's woes fhall fill the story'd wall;
Heirs of thy blood shall o'er their bounteous board
Fix Europe's guard, thy monumental fword,
Banners that oft have wav'd on conquer'd walls,
And trumps, that drown'd the groans of gasping Gauls.
Fair dames fhall oft, with curious eye, explore
The coftly robes that flaughter'd generals wore,
Rich trappings from the Danube's whirlpools brought,
(Hefperian nuns the gorgeous broidery wrought)
Belts ftiff with gold, the Boian horfe-man's pride,
And Gaul's fair flowers, in human crimson dy'd.
Of Churchill's race perhaps fome lovely boy
Shall mark the burnish'd feel that hangs on high,
Shall gaze tranfported on its glittering charms,
And reach it ftruggling with unequal arms,
By figns the drum's tumultuous found request,
Then feek, in ftarts, the hufhing mother's breast.
So, in the painter's animated frame,
Where Mars embraces the foft Paphian dame,
The little Loves in fport his fauchion wield,
Or join their strength to heave his ponderous fhield:
One ftrokes the plume in Tityon's gore embrued,
And one the spear, that reeks with Typhon's blood:
Another's infant brows the helm sustain,
He nods his creft, and frights the fhricking train.
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