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Thee, Churchill, first the ruthless-hand of death
Tore from thy confort's fide, and call'd thee hence
To the fublimer feats of joy and love;
Where fate again shall join her foul to thine,
Who now, regardful of thy fame, erects
The column to thy praise, and fooths her woe
With pious honours to thy facred name
Immortal. Lo! where, towering in the height
Of yon aërial pillar, proudly ftands
Thy image, like a guardian god, fublime,
And awes the fubject plain : beneath his feet,
The German eagles fpread their wings; his hand
Grafps Victory, its flave. Such was thy brow
Majestic, fuch thy martial port, when Gaul
Fled from thy frown, and in the Danube fought
A refuge from thy fword:-There, where the field
Was deepest ftain'd with gore, on Hochftet's plain,
The theatre of thy glory, once was rais'd
A meaner trophy, by the Imperial hand; -
Extorted gratitude! which now the rage
Of malice impotent, befeeming ill
A regal breaft, has level'd to the ground:
Mean infult! This, with better aufpices,
Shall ftand on British earth, to tell the world
How Marlborough fought, for whom, and how repaid. His fervices. Nor fhall the constant love
Of her who rais'd this monument be loft
In dark oblivion: that shall be the theme
Of future Bards in ages yet unborn,
Infpir'd with Chaucer's fire, who in thefe groves
First tun'd the British harp, and little deem'd
His humble dwelling should the neighbour be
Of Blenheim, house superb; to which the throng
Of travellers approaching fhall not pass
His roof unnoted, but respectful hail
With reverence due. Such honour does the Muse
Obtain her favourites.-But the noble pile
My theme) demands my voice.-O shade ador'd,
Marlborough! who now above the starry sphere
Dwell'ft in the palaces of heaven, enthron'd
Among the demi-gods, deign to defend
This thy abode, while present here below,
And facred still to thy immortal fame,
With tutelary care. Preferve it fafe
From Time's destroying hand, and cruel stroke
Of factious Envy's more relentless rage.
Here may, long ages hence, the British youth,
When honour calls them to the field of war,
Behold the trophies which thy valour rais'd;
The proud reward of thy fuccessful toils
For Europe's freedom, and Britannia's fame;
That, fir'd with generous envy, they may dare
To emulate thy deeds.-So fhall thy name,
Dear to thy country, ftill infpire her fons
With martial virtue; and to high attempts
Excite their arms, till other battles won,
And nations fav'd, new, monuments require,
And other Blenheims fhall adorn the land.
To the Reverend Dr. Ays coUGH, at OXFORD.
Written from Paris in the Year.1728.
AY, dearest friend, how roll thy hours away?
What pleasing study cheats the tedious day? -
Doft thou the facred volumes oft explore
Of wife Antiquity's immortal lore,
Where virtue, by the charms of wit refin'd,,
At once exalts and polishes the mind?
How different from our modern guilty art,
Which pleases only to corrupt the heart;
Whofe curft refinements odious vice adorn,
And teach to honour what we ought to scorn!
Doft thou in fage hiftorians joy to fee
How Roman greatness rose with liberty;
How the fame hands that tyrants durft control
Their empire ftretch'd from Atlas to the Pole;
Till wealth and conqueft into flaves refin'd
The proud luxurious mafters of mankind?
Doft thou in letter'd Greece each charm admire,
Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could inspire;
Yet in her troubled ftate fee all the woes
And all the crimes, that giddy Faction knows ;
Till, rent by parties, by corruption fold,
Or weakly careless, or too rafhly bold,
She funk beneath a mitigated doom,
The flave and tutorefs of protecting Rome?
Does calm Philosophy her aid impart,
To guide the paffions, and to mend the heart?
Taught by her precepts, haft thou learnt the end
To which alone the wife their ftudies bend;
For which alone by nature were defign'd
The powers of thought-to benefit mankind?
Not, like a cloyster'd drone, to read and dose,
In undeferving, undeferv'd, repofe ;-
But Reason's influence to diffuse; to clear
Th' enlighten'd world of every gloomy fear;
Difpel the mists of error, and unbind
Thofe pedant chains that clog the freeborn mind..
Happy who thus his leifure can employ!
He knows the purest hours of tranquil joy ;
Nor vext with pangs that bufier bosoms tear,,
Nor loft to focial virtue's pleafing care;
Safe in the port, yet labouring to fuftain
Those who still float on the tempeftuous main..
So Locke the days of ftudious quiet fpent;
So Boyle in wisdom found divine content;
So Cambray, worthy of a happier doom,
The virtuous flave of Louis and of Rome.
Good Wor'fter thus fupports his drooping age,
Far from court-flattery, far from party-rage;
He, who in youth a tyrant's frown defy'd,
Firm and intrepid on his country's fide,
Her boldest champion then, and now her mildest
O generous warmth! O fanctity divine!
To emulate his worth, my friend, be thine:
Learn from his life the duties of the gown;
Learn, not to flatter, nor infult the crown;
Nor, bafely fervile, court the guilty great,
Nor raife the church a rival to the state:
To error mild, to vice alone fevere,
Seek not to spread the law of love by fear.
The priest who plagues the world can never mend
No foe to man was e'er to God a friend.
Let reafon and let virtue faith maintain;
All force but theirs is impious, weak, and vain.
Me other cares in other climes engage,
Cares that become my birth, and fuit my age;
In various knowledge to improve my youth,
And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth;
By foreign arts domeftic faults to mend,
Enlarge my notions, and my views extend;
The ufeful fcience of the world to know,
Which books can never teach, or pedants fhow..
A nation here I pity and admire,
Whom nobleft fentiments of glory fire,
Yet taught, by cuftom's force and bigot fear,
To ferve with pride, and boaft the yoke they bear :
Whofe nobles, born to cringe and to command,
(In courts a mean, in camps a generous band,)
From each low tool of power, content receive
Those laws, their dreaded arms to Europe give.
Whofe people (vain in want, in bondage bleft;
Though plunder'd, gay; induftrious, though oppreft)