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True virtue to her kindred stars aspires,
Does all our pomp of stone and verse surpass,

And mingling with etherial fires,

No useless ornament requires From speaking colours, or from breathing brass.

II. Greatest of princes ! where the wand'ring sun Does o'er earth's habitable regions roll, From th' eastern barriers to the western goal,

And fees thy race of glory run

With swiftness equal to his own :
Thee on the banks of Flandrian Scaldis fings
The jocund swain releas'd from Gallic fear :

The English voice unus'd to hear,
Thee the repeating banks, thee ev'ry valley rings.

The sword of heav'n how pious ANNA wields,
And heav'nly vengeance on the guilty deals,
Let the twice fugitive Bavarian tell ;
Who, from his airy hope of better state,
By luft of sway irregularly great,

Like an apoftate angel fell :
Who, by imperial favour rais'd,
I'th' highest rank of glory blaz’d :

And had till now unrivall'd shone,
More than a king contented with his own ;

But Lucifer's bold steps he trod,
Who durft affault the throne of God;

And for contented realms of blissful light,

Gain'd the sad privilege to be

The first in folid misery,
Monarch of hell, and woes, and everlasting night.

Corruption of the best is always worst ;
And foul ambition like an evil wind,
Blights the fair blossoms of a noble mind;
And if a seraph fall, he's doubly curft.

Had guile, and pride, and envy grown

In the black groves of Styx alone,
Nor ever had on earth the baleful crop been sown:

The fwain without amaze, had till’d
The Flandrian glebe, a guiltless field :
Nor had he wonder'd, when he found
The bones of heroes in the ground:
No crimson streams had lately swell’d

The Dyle, the Danube, and the Scheld.
But evils are of necessary growth,

To rouze the brave, and banish floth;
And some are born to win the stars,

By sweat and blood, and worthy scars.
Heroick virtue is by action feen,

And vices serve to make it keen ;
And as gigantick tyrants rise,
Nassaus and CHURCHILLs leave the skies,
The earth-born monsters to chastife,

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V. -
If, heav'nly Muse, you burn with a desire

To praise the man whom all admire ;

Come from thy learn’d Caftalian springs,
And stretch aloft thy Pegasean wings:

Strike the loud Pindarick ftrings,
Like the lark who foars and fings;

And as you fail the liquid skies,
Caft on · Menapian fields your weeping eyes :

For weep they surely must,
To see the bloody annual sacrifice ;

To think how the neglected duft,

Which with contempt is basely trod,
Was once the limbs of captains, brave and juft,
The mortal part of some great demi-god;
Who for thrice fifty years of stubborn war,

With slaught'ring arms, the gun and sword,
Have dug the mighty fepulchre,

And fell as martyrs on record,
Of tyranny aveng'd, and liberty restor’d.

See, where at Audenard, with heaps of flain,

Th'heroick man inspir'dly brave,

Mowing across, bestrews the plain,
And with new tenants crowds the wealthy grave,

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· The Menapii were the ancient inhabitants of Flanders,


His mind unshaken at the frightful scene,

His looks as chearfully serene,
The routed battle to pursue,

As once adorn’d the Paphian queen,
When to her Thracian paramour she flew.

The gath’ring troops he kens from far, And with a bridegroom's passion and delight,

Courting the war, and glowing for the fight,
The new Salmoneus meets the Celtic thunderer.

Ah, cursed pride! infernal dream!
Which drove him to this wild extream,

That dust a deity should seem ;
Be thought, as through the wondering streets he rode,

A man immortal, or a god :

With rattling brass, and trampling horse,
Should counterfeit th? inimitable force

Of divine thunder : horrid crime !
But vengeance is the child of time,
And will too surely be repaid
On his profane devoted head,
Who durft affront the powers above,

And their eternal flames disgrace,
Too fatal, brandish'd by the real Jove,
Or - Pallas, who assumes and fills his aweful place :


VII. The

The British Pallas ! who, as "Homer's did

For her lov'd Diomede,
Her hero's mind with wisdom fills,
And heav'nly courage in his heart inftils,
Hence thro' the thickest squadrons does he ride,
With Anna's angels by his side.

With what uncommon speed
He fpurs his foaming, fiery steed,

And pushes on thro' midmoft fires,
Where France's fortune, with her sons, retires !
Now here, now there, the fweeping ruin fies ;

As when the Pleiades arise,

The southern wind afflicts the skies, Then, mutt'ring o'er the deep, buffets th’ unruly brine,

'Till clouds and water seem to join.

Homer, in his fifth Iliad, because his hero is to do zvonders beyond the power of man, premises, in the beginning, That Pallas had peculiarly fitted bim for that day's exploits.

Indomitas prope qualis undas
Exercit aufter, pleiadum choro
Scindente nubes, impiger hoftium
Vexare turmas, & frementem
Mittere equum medios per ignes.
Sic tauriformis volvitur Aufidus,
Qui regna Dauni præfluit Appuli,
Cum sævit, horrendam quo

Diluviem meditatur agris.


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