Thus, the rude tempeft of the field o'er-blown,
Shall whiter rounds of smiling years roll on,
Our victors, bleft in peace, forget their wars,
Enjoy paft dangers, and abfolve the stars.
But, oh! what forrows fhall bedew your urns,
Ye honour'd fhades, whom widow'd Albion mourns!
If your thin forms yet discontented moan,
And haunt the mangled mansions, once your own;
Behold what flowers the pious Muses itrow,
And tears, which in the midst of triumph flow;
Cyprefs and bays your envy'd brows furround,
Your names the tender matron's heart fhall wound,
And the soft maid grow pensive at the sound.
Accept, great Anne, the tears their memory draws,
Who nobly perifh'd in their fovereign's cause :
For thou in pity bid'st the war give o'er,
Mourn'ft thy flain heroes, nor wilt venture more.
Vaft price of blood on each victorious day!
(But Europe's freedom doth that price repay.)
Lamented triumphs! when one breath must tell
That Marlborough conquer'd, and that Dormer fell.
Great Queen! whose name strikes haughty monarchs
pale,
On whofe juft fceptre hangs Europa's fcale,
Whofe arm like mercy wounds, decides like fate,
On whofe decree the nations anxious wait:
From Albion's cliffs thy wide-extended hand
Shall o'er the main to far Peru command;
So vaft a tract whose wide domain shall run,
Its circling fkies fhall fee no fetting fun.
Thee, thee an hundred languages fhall claim,
And favage Indians fwear by Anna's name;
The line and poles shall own thy rightful sway,
And thy commands the fever'd globe obey.
Round the vast ball thy new dominions chain
The watery kingdoms, and control the main ;
Magellan's ftraits to Gibraltar they join,
Acrofs the feas a formidable line;
The fight of adverse Gaul we fear no more,
But pleas'd fee Dunkirk, now a guiltless fhore;
In vain great Neptune tore the narrow ground,
And meant his waters for Britannia's bound;
Her giant genius takes a mighty ftride,
And fets his foot beyond th' incroaching tide;
On either bank the land its master knows,
And in the midft the fubject ocean flows.
So near proud Rhodes, across the raging flood,
Stupendous form! the vast Coloffus stood,
(While at one foot their thronging gallies ride,
A whole hour's fail fcarce reach'd the further fide)
Betwixt his brazen thighs, in loose array,
Ten thousand streamers on the billows play.
By Harley's counfels Dunkirk now restor'd
To Britain's empire, owns her ancient lord.
In him transfus'd his godlike father reigns,
Rich in the blood which swell'd that patriot's veins,
Who boldly faithful met his fovereign's frown,
And fcorn'd for gold to yield th' important town.
His fon was born the ravish'd prey to claim,
And France ftill trembles at an Harley's name.
A fort fo dreadful to our English shore,
Our fleets scarce fear'd the fands or tempefts more,
Whofe vaft expences to fuch fums amount,
That the tax'd Gaul fcarce furnish'd out th' account,
Whofe walls fuch bulwarks, fuch vaft towers restrain,
Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main,
His boaft great Louis yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, Anna, with the mighty prize.
Holland repining, and in grief cast down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown:
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes, more dreadful than the Gaul, invite.
Soon may they hold the olive, soon afswage
Their fecret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage
To rend their banks, and pour, at one command,
Thy realm, the sea, o'er their precarious land.
Henceforth be thine, vice-gerent of the skies,
Scorn'd worth to raife, and vice in robes chaftife,
To dry the orphan's tears, and from the bar
Chace the brib'd judge, and hush the wordy war,
Deny the curft blafphemer's tongue to rage,
And turn God's fury from an impious age.
Bleft change! the foldier's late destroying hand
Shall rear new temples in his native land;
Miftaken zealots fhall with fear behold,
And beg admittance in our facred fold;
On her own works the pious queen shall smile,
And turn her cares upon her favourite ifle.
So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,
Array`d in clouds, and wrapt in mantling flames;
He bears a tempeft on his founding wings,
And his red arm the forky vengeance flings;
At length, heaven's wrath appeas'd, he quits the war,
To roll his orb, and guide his destin'd star,
To thed kind fate, and lucky hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the world below.
Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait,
These guard the church, and those direct the state.
To Bristol, graceful in maternal tears,
The church her towery forehead gently rears;
She begs her pious fon t' affert her caufe,
Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws,
With holy zeal the facred work begin,
To bend the ftubborn, and the meek to win.
Our Oxford's earl in careful thought shall stand,
To raife his queen, and fave a sinking land.
The wealthiest glebe to ravenous Spaniards known
He marks, and makes the golden world our own,
-Content with hands unfoil'd to guard the prize,
And keep the ftore with undefiring eyes.
So round the tree, that bore Hefperian gold,
The facred watch lay curl'd in many a fold,
His eyes up-rearing to th' untasted prey,
The fleepless guardian wafted life away.
Beneath the peaceful olives, rais'd by you,
Her ancient pride fhall every art renew,
(The arts with you fam'd Harcourt shall defend,
And courtly Bolingbroke the Muse's friend.)
With piercing eye fome fearch where nature plays,
And trace the wanton through her darksome maze,
Whence health from herbs; from feeds how groves begun, How vital streams in circling eddies run.
Some teach why round the fun the spheres advance,
In the fix'd measures of their mystic dance,
How tides, when heav'd by preffing moons, o'erflow,
And fun-born Iris paints her showery bow.
In happy chains our daring language bound,
Shall sport no more in arbitrary found,
But bufkin'd bards henceforth fhall wifely rage,
And Grecian plans reform Britannia's stage:
Till Congreve bids her fmile, Augusta stands
And longs to weep when flowing Rowe commands.
Britain's Spectators shall their strength combine
To mend our morals, and our taste refine,
Fight virtue's cause, stand up in wit's defence,
Win us from vice, and laugh us into sense.
Nor, Prior, haft thou hush'd the trump in vain,
Thy lyre shall now revive her mirthful strain,
New tales fhall now be told; if right I fee,
The foul of Chaucer is reftor'd in thee.
Garth, in majestic numbers, to the stars
Shall raise mock heroes, and fantastic wars;
Like the young spreading laurel, Pope, thy name
Shoots up with ftrength, and rises into fame;
With Philips fhall the peaceful vallies ring,
And Britain hear a fecond Spenser fing.
That much-lov`d youth, whom Utrecht's walls confine,
To Bristol's praises fhall his Strafford's join :
He too, from whom attentive Oxford draws
Rules for just thinking, and poetic laws,
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