Doubt if they're those, whom dreadful to the view
In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew;
At whofe dire names ten thousand widows prest
Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast.
In filent rapture each his foe furveys;

They vow firm friendship, and give mutual praise.
Brave minds, howe'er at war, are fecret friends;
Their generous difcord with the battle ends;
In peace they wonder whence dissension rose,
And ask how fouls fo like could e'er be foes.
Methinks I hear more friendly shouts rebound,
And facial clarions mix their sprightly found.
The British flags are furl'd, her troops disband,
And fcatter'd armies feek their native land.
The hardy veteran, proud of many a scar,
The manly charms and honours of the war,
Who hop'd to share his friends' illustrious doom,
And in the battle find a foldier's tomb,
Leans on his fpear to take his farewell view,
And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.

Ye generous fair, receive the brave with smiles,
O'er-pay their fleepless nights, and crown their toils;
Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due,

For you they conquer, and they bleed for you.
In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain confpires,
When English valour English beauty fires;
The nations dread your eyes, and kings despair
Of chiefs fo brave, till they have nymphs fo fair.
Sce the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,

her rough lord, and weeps o'er every wound,

Hangs

Hangs on the lips that fields of blood relate,
And fmiles, or trembles, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl he draws the fancy'd line,
And marks feign'd trenches in the flowing wine,
Then fets th' invested fort before her eyes,
And mines, that whirl'd battalions to the skies;
His little liftening progeny turn pale,

And beg again to hear the dreadful tale:

Such dire achievements fings the bard, that tells
Of palfrey'd dames, bold knights, and magic spells,
Where whole brigades one champion's arms o'erthrow,
And cleave a giant at a random blow,

Slay paynims vile, that force the fair, and tame
The goblin's fury, and the dragon's flame.

Our eager youth to distant nations run,
To vifit fields, their valiant fathers won ;
From Flandria's fhore their country's fame they trace,
Till far Germania fhews her blafted face.
Th' exulting Briton asks his mournful guide,
Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd:
Where Stepney grav'd the stone to Anna's fame,
He points to Blenheim, once a vulgar name;
Here fled the Houshold, there did Tallard yield,
Here Marlborough turn'd the fortune of the field,
On thofe steep banks, near Danube's raging flood,
The Gauls thrice started back, and trembling, ftood:
When, Churchill's arm perceiv'd, they stood not long,
But plung'd amidst the waves, a desperate throng,
Crowds whelm'd on crowds dafh'd wide the watery bed,
And drove the current to its diftant head.

As when by Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands
A warlike courfer on the canvas ftands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore,
Or fet young Ammon on the Granic fhore;
If chance a generous steed the work behold,
He fnorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold:
So, Hocftet feen, tumultuous paffions roll,

And hints of glory fire the Briton's soul,
In fancy'd fights he fees the troops engage,
And all the tempeft of the battle rage.

Charm me, ye powers, with fcenes lefs nobly bright, Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Muse delight, Content to fee the honours of the field

By plough-fhares level'd, or in flowers conceal'd.
O'er shatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grafs luxuriant clothe the harmless mine,
Tame flocks afcend the breach without a wound,
Or crop
the bastion, now a fruitful ground;
While fhepherds fleep, along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable shade.

Who was the man? Oblivion blast his name,
Torn out, and blotted from the lift of fame!
Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
First funk the filial fubject to a slave,

His neighbour's realms by frauds unkingly gain'd,
In guiltlefs blood the facred ermine stain'd,

Laid fchemes for death, to flaughter turn'd his heart,
And fitted murder to the rules of art.

Ah! curft ambition, to thy lures we owe

the great ills, that mortals bear below.

Curft

Curft by the hind, when to the spoil he yields
His year's whole sweat, and vainly ripen'd fields;
Curft by the maid, torn from her lover's fide,
When left a widow, though not yet a bride;
By mothers curft, when floods of tears they shed,
And fcatter ufelefs rofes on the dead.

Oh, facred Briftol! then, what dangers prove
The arts, thou fmil'ft on with paternal love?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvas glows;
To shades obfcure the glittering fword pursues
The gentle poet, and defenceless Muse.
A voice like thine, alone, might then afswage
The warrior's fury, and control his rage;
To hear thee fpeak, might the fierce Vandal stand,
And fling the brandish'd fabre from his hand.

Far hence be driven to Scythia's formy fhore
The drum's harsh mufic, and the cannon's roar;
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawlefs plain,
Where Tartar clans and grizly Coffacks reign;
Let the fteel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravifh'd with relentless eyes,
To death gray heads and smiling infants doom,
Nor fpare the promife of the pregnant womb,
O'er wafted kingdoms spread his wide command,
The favage lord of an unpcopled land.

Her guiltlefs glory just Britannia draws
From pure religion, and impartial laws,
To Europe's wounds a mother's aid fhe brings,
And holds in equal fcales the rival kings:

Her generous fons in choicest 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 springs,
With smiles she fees the threatening billows rife,
Spreads fmooth the furge, and clears the louring skies.
Light, o'er the deep, with fluttering Cupids crown'd,
The pearly conch and silver turtles bound;
Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.

Amidft the world of waves fo ftands ferene
Britannia's ifle, the ocean's ftately queen;
In vain the nations have confpir'd her fall,
Her trench the fea, and fleets her floating wall:
Defencelefs 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 redreft!
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 harnefs'd millions of the north,
Through realms of ice purfued his tedious way
To court our friendship, and our fame survey!
Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore,
And round his empire spread the learned store :

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