III.

To your own Blenheim's blissful feat,
From this ungrateful world retreat;
A gift unequal to that hero's worth,
Who from the peaceful Thames led our bold Bri
tons forth,

To free the Danube and the Rhine;
Who by the thunder of his arms

Shook the proud Rhone with loud alarms,
And rais'd a tempest in the trembling Seine.
After the long fatigues of war,
Repose your envy'd virtues here;
Enjoy, my lord, the sweet repaft
Of all your glorious toils,

A pleasure that shall ever last,

The mighty comfort that proceeds
From the just sense of virtuous deeds,

Content with endless fame, contemn the meaner spoils.

Pomona calls, and Pan invites,

To rural pleasures, chaste delights;
The orange and the citron grove
Will by your hand alone improve;
Would fain their gaudy liveries wear,

And wait your presence to revive the year.
In this ÉlyĤium, more than blest,
Laugh at the vulgar's fenfeless hate,
The politician's vain deceit,

The fawning knave, the proud ingrate.
Revolve in their capacious breast

The various unforeseen events,

And unexpected accidents,

Who, when the mighty work was done,
Tyrants repell'd, and battles won,

On your glad waves, proud of the glorious load,

Of grandeur's tranfitory state.

Corinthian brass shall melt away,
And Parian Marble fhall decay;

The vaft Coloffus, that on either shore
Exulting ftood, is now no more;
Arts and artificers shall die,
And in one common ruin lie.
Behold your own majestic palace rife,
In hafte to emulate the skies;

The gilded globes, the pointed fpires:
See the proud dome's ambitious height,
Emblem of power and pompous state,

Above the clouds afpires:
Yet Vulcan's fpight, or angry Jove,
May foon its towering pride reprove,

Its painted glories foon efface,

rode.

To winds and feas, diftrefs'd he flies,
From forms at land, and faction's spight:
Though the more fickle crowd denies,

The winds, the feas, fhall do his virtue right.
Be hufbt, ye winds! be ftill, ye fèas!
Ye billows fleep at ease,

And in your rocky caverns reft!
Let all be calm as the great hero's breaft,
Here no unruly paffions reign,

Nor fervile fear, nor proud difdain,
Each wilder luft is banifh'd hence,

Where gentle love prefides, and mild benevolence,
Here no gloomy cares arise,

Confcious honour Itill fupplies,

Friendly hope, and peace of mind,
Such as dying martyrs find.

Serene within, no guilt he knows,

base.

Material ftructures must submit to fate.

But virtue which alone is truly great,
Virtue like yours, my lord, fhall be
Secure of immortality.

Nor foreign force, nor factious rage,
Nor envy, nor devouring age,
Your lafting glory fhall impair,
Time shall mysterious truths declare,
And works of darkness shall disclose ;
This bleffing is referv'd for you
T'outlive the trophies to your merit due,
And malice of your foes.

II.

Say, Mufe, what hero fhall I fing,

What great example bring,

To parallel this mighty wrong,
And with his graceful woes adorn my fong?
Shall brave Themiftocles appear

Before the haughty Perfian's throne?
While conquer'd chiefs confefs them fear,
And shatter'd fleets his triumphs own;
In admiration fix'd the monarch stood,
With fecret joy his glorious prize he view'd,
Of more intrinfic worth than provinces fubdued.

Or faithful Ariftides, fent,
For being juft, to banishment,
He writ the rigid fentence down,
He pitied the mifguided clown.
Or him, who, when brib'd orators mifled
The factious tribes, to hoftile Sparta fled;
The vile ingrateful crowd,
Proclaim'd their impious joy aloud,
But foon the fools difcover'd to their coft,
Athens in Alcibiades was loft.

Or, if a Roman name delight thee more,
The great Dictator's fate deplore,
Camillus against noify faction bold,
In victories and triumphs old.
Ungrateful Rome!

Punish'd by heaven's avenging doom,
Soon shall thy ardent vows invite him home,
The mighty chieftain foon recall,
To prop the falling capitol,

And fave his country from the perjur'd Gaul, Search, Mufe, the dark records of time, And every fhameful story trace, Black with injuftice and difgrace, When glorious merit was a crime; Yet thefe, all thefe, but faintly can exprefs Folly without excufe, and maduels in excefs.

The nobleft object that out our eyes can bless, Is the brave man triumphant in distress;

Above the reach of partial fate, Above the vulgar's praife or hate, Whom no feign'd smiles can raife, no frowns deprefs.

View him, ye Britons, on the naked fhore,
Refolv'd to trust your faithlefs vows no more,
That mighty man! who for ten glorious years
Surpafs'd our hopes, prevented all our prayers.
A name, in every clime renown'd,

By nations blefs'd, by monarchs crown'd.
In folemn jubilees our days we spent,
Our hearts exulting in each grand event.

Factions applaud the man they hate,

And with regret, to pay their painful homage wait.

Have I not feen this crowded fhore,
With multitudes all cover'd o'er?
While hills and groves their joy proclaim,
And echoing rocks return his name.
Attentive on the lovely form they gaze :
He with a chearful fmile,
Glad to revifit this his parent ifle,
Flies from their incenfe, and escapes their praife.
Yes, Britons, view him ftill unmov'd,
Unchang'd, though less belov'd.

His generous foui no dedp refentment fires, But, blushing for his country's crimes, the kind good man retires.

Ev'n now he fights for this devoted ifle,
And labours to preferve his native foil,

Diverts the vengeance which juft heaven pre

Fly, goddess, fly this inaufpicious place ;
Spurn at the vile degenerate race,
Attend the glorious exile, and proclaim
In other climes his lafting fame,
Where honeft hearts, unknowing to forget
The bieflings from his arms receiv'd,
Confefs with joy the mighty debt,
Their altars refcued, and their gods reliev'd.

IV.

Nor fails the hero to a clime unknown,
Cities preferv'd, their great deliverer own:
Impatient crowds about him prefs,

And with fincere devotion bless.

Thofe plains, of ten years war the bloody age, (Where panting nations ftruggled to be free And life exchang'd for liberty)

Retain the marks of ftern Bellona's rage.
The doubtful hind miftakes the field-
His fruitless toil fo lately till'd :

Here deep intrenchments funk, and vales appear,
The vain retreats of Gallic fear;

There now-created hills deform the plain,
Big with the carnage of the flain:
Thefe monuments, when faction's fpight
Has fpit its poifonous foam in vain,
To endless ages fhall proclaim
The matchlefs warrior's might.

The graves of flaughter'd foes fhall do his valour right.

Thefe when the curious traveller

Amaz'd fhall view, and with attentive care
Trace the fad footsteps of deftructive war;
Succeffive bards fhall tell,

How Marlborough fought, how gasping tyrants

fell.

Stop, goddefs, thy prefumptuous flight, Nor foar to fuch a dangerous height, Raife not the ghost of his departed fame, To pierce our confcious fouls with guilty fhanae : But tune thy harp to hambler lays, Nor meditate offenfive praife.

то

In heaven he fings; on earth your Mufe supplies
Th' important loss, and heals our weeping eyes.
Correctly great, the melts each flinty heart,
With equal genius, but fuperior art.
Hail, happy pair! ordain'd by turns to blefs,
And fave a finking nation in diftrefs.
By great examples to reform the crowd,
Awake their zeal, and warm their frozen blood.
When Brutus ftrikes for liberty and laws,
Nor fpares a father in his country's cause;
Juftice fevere applauds the cruel deed,
A tyrant fuffers, and the world is freed,
But when we fee the godlike Cato bleed,
The nation weeps; and from thy fate, oh Rome!
Learns to prevent their own impending doom.
Where is the wretch a worthless life can prize,
When Senates are no more, and Cato dies?
Indulgent forrow, and a pleafing pain,
Heaves in each breast, and beats in every vein.
Th' expiring patriot animates the crowd,
Bold they demand their ancient rights aloud,
The dear-bought purchase of their father's blood.
Fair Liberty her head majestic rears,
Ten thousand bleflings in her bofom bears;
Screne fhe fmiles, revealing all her charms,
And calls her free-born youth to glorious arms.
Faction'srepell'd, and grumbling leaves her prey,
Forlorn fhe fits, and dreads the fatal day,
When eaftern gales shall sweep her hopes away.
Such ardent zeal your Mufe alone could raise,
Alone reward it with immortal praise.
Ages to come fhall celebrate your fame,
And refcued Briton blefs the poet's name.
So when the dreaded powers of Sparta fail'd,
Tyrtæus and Athenian wit prevail'd,
Too weak the laws by wife Lycurgus made,
And rules fevere without the Mufes' aid:

He touch'd the trembling ftrings, the poet's fong
Reviv'd the faint, and made the feeble strong;
Recall'd the living to the dufty plain,
And to a better life reftor'd the flain.
The victor-host amaz'd, with horror view'd
Th' affembling troops, and all the war renew'd;
To more than mortal courage quit the field.
And to their focs th' unfinish'd trophies yield.

Inimitably great!

Bow low, ye bards, at his exalted throne,
And lay your labours at his feet;
Capacious foul! whose boundless thoughts furvey
Heaven, hell, earth, fea;

Lo! where th' embattled gods appear,

The mountains from their feats they tear, And shake th'empyreal heavens with impious war, Yet, nor fhall Milton's ghoft repine

At all the honours we bestow

On Addison's deferving brow,

By whom convinc'd, we own his work divine, Whofe skilful pen has done his merit right, And fet the jewel in a fairer light.

Enliven'd by his bright Effay

Each flowery scene appears more gay,
New beauties fpring in Eden's fertile groves,
And by his culture Paradife improves.
Garth, by Apollo doubly bless'd,
Is by the god entire poffefs'd:
Age, unwilling to depart,
Begs life from his prevailing skill;
Youth, reviving from his art,
Borrows its charms and power to kill:
But when the patriot's injur'd fame,
His country's honour, or his friends,
A more extenfive bounty claim,
With joy the ready Mufe attends,
Immortal honours fhe bestows,
A gift the Mufse alone can give;

She crowns the glorious victor's brows,
And bids expiring virtue live.

Nymphs yet unborn fhall melt with amorous flames
That Congreve's lays inspire;

And Philips warm the gentle fwains

To love and foft defire.

}

Ah! fhun, ye fair, the dangerous founds,
Alas! each moving accent wounds,
The fparks conceal'd revive again
The god refter'd, refumes his reign,
In killing joys and pleasing pain.
Thus does each bard in different garb appear,
Each Muse has her peculiar air,

And in propriety of drefs becomes more fair;
To cach, impartial Providence

Well-chofen gifts bestows,

He varies his munificence,

And in divided ftreams the heavenly bleffing flows.

If we look back on ages past and gone,
When infant Time his race begun,
The diftant view flill leffens to our fight,
Obfcur'd in clouds, and veil'd in fhades of night.
The Mufe alone can the dark scenes display,
Enlarge the profpect, and difclofe the day.
'Tis the the records of times past explores,
And the dead hero to new life restores,

To the brave man who for his country died,
Erects a lafting pyramid,

Supports his dignity and fame,
When mouldering pillars drop his name.
In full proportion leads her warrior forth,
Difcovers his neglected worth,

Brightens

Brightens his deeds, by envious ruft o'ercast, T'improve the prefent age, and vindicate the past. Did not the Mufe our crying wrongs repeat, Ages to come no more fhould know Of Lewis by oppreffion great

Than we of Nimrod now :

The meteor should but b'aze and die, Depriv'd of the reward of endless infamy. Ev'n that brave chief, who fet the nations free, The greatest name the world can boaft, Without the Mufe's aid fhall be

Sunk in the tide of time, and in oblivion loft.
The sculptor's hand may make the marble live,
Or the bold pencil trace

The wonders of that lovely face,
Where every charm, and every grace,
That man can wish, or heaven can give,
In happy union join'd, confess
The hero born to conquer, and to bless.
Yet vain, alas! is every art,

Till the great work the Muse compleat,
And everlafting fame impart.

That foars aloft, above the reach of fate.
Hail, happy bard! on whom the gods bestow
A genius equal to the vast design,

Whofe thoughts fublime in casy numbers flow,
While Marlborough's virtues animate each line.
How fhall our trembling fouls furvey
The horrors of each bloody day;
The wreaking carnage of the plain
Incumber'd with the mighty flain,
The frange variety of death,

And the fad murmurs of departing breath?
Scamander's ftreams fhall yield to Danube's flood,
To the dark bofom of the deep pursued

The gods fhall arm on either fide,
Th' important quarrel to decide;
The grand event embroil the realms above,
And faction revel in the court of Jove;

While heaven, and earth, and fea, and air,
Shall feel the mighty fhock and labour of the war.
III.

Virtue conceal'd obfcurely dies,

Loft in the mean disguise

Of abjec floth, deprefs'd, unknown.

Rough in its native bed the unwrought diamond lies,

Till chance, or art, reveal its worth;

And call its latent glories forth;
But when its radiant charms are view'd,
Becomes the idol of the crowd,

And adds new luftre to the monarch's crown.
What British harp can lie unftrung,
When Stanhope's fame demands a song?
Upward, ye Mufes, take your wanton flight,
Tune every lyre to Stanhope's praise,
Exert your most triumphant lays,

Nor fuffer fuch heroic deeds to fink in endless. night.

The golden Tagus fhall forget to flow,
And Ebro leave its channel dry,

Ere Stanhope's name to time fhall bow,
And loft in dark oblivion lie.

Where fhall the Mufe begin her airy flight?

Labours the good of human kind:
Erect in dangers, modeit in fuccefs,
Corruption's everlasting bane,
Where injur'd merit finds redress,
And worthlefs villains wait in vain.
Though fawning knaves besiege thy gate,
And court the honeft man they hate;
Thy steady virtue charges through,
Alike unerring to fubdue,

As when on Almanara's plain the scatter'd fquadrons flew.

Vain are th attacks of force or art, Where Cæfar's arm defends a Cato's heart.

Oh! could thy generous foul difpenfe Through this unrighteous age its facred influence Could the bafe crowd from thy example learn To trample on their impious gifts with fcorn, With thame confounded to behold A nation for a trifle fold,

Dejected fenates fhould no more Their champion's abfence mourn, Contending boroughs fhould thy name return; Thy bold Philippicks fhould reftore

Britannia's wealth, and power, and fame, Nor liberty be deem'd an empty name, While tyrants trembled on a foreign fhore. No fweiling titles, pomp, and ftate, The trappings of a magistrate, Can dignify a dive, or make a traitor great, For, careless of external fhew, Sage Nature dicates whom t' ob-y, And we the ready homage pay, Which to fuperior gifts we owe. Merit like thine repuls'd an empire gains,... And virtue, though neglected, reigns. The wretch is indigent and poor, Who brooding fits o'er his ill gotten store; Trembling with guilt, and haunted by his fin, He feels the rigid judge within.

But they alone are blefs'd, who wifely know
Tenjoy the little which the gods bestow,
Proud of their glorious wants, difdain
To barter honesty for gain;

No other ill but fhame they fear,
And fcorn to purchafe life too drag:
X &

Profu'ely