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Oh sacred BRISTOL! then what dangers prove
The arts, thou smil'st on with paternal love ?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvass glows;
To shades obscure the glitt'ring sword pursues
The gentle Poet and defenceless Muse.
A voice, like thine alone, might then affuage
The warrior's fury, and controul his rage ;
To hear thee speak might the fierce Vandal stand,
And Aing the brandish'd sabre from his hand.

Far hence be driv'n to Scythia's stormy shore
The drum’s harsh musick, and the cannon's roar;
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain,
Where Tartar-clans and grisly Coflacs reign;
Let the steel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravish'd with relentless eyes ;
To death grey heads and smiling infants doom,
Nor spare the promise of the pregnant womb;
O'er wasted kingdoms spread his wide command,
The favage lord of an unpeopled land.

Her guiltless glory just Britannia draws
From pure religion, and impartial laws :
To Europe's wounds a mother's aid she brings,
And holds in equal scales the rival kings :
Her gen'rous sons in choicest gifts abound,
Alike in arms, alike in arts renown'd.

As when sweet Venus, (so the fable fings)
Awak'd by Nereids, from the Ocean springs ;

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With smiles she sees the threat'ning billows rise,
Spreads smooth the surge, and clears the louring skies ;
Light, o'er the deep, with flutt'ring Cupids crown'd,
The pearly conch and silver turtles bound;
Her treffes shed ambrosial odours round.

Amidst the world of waves so stands serene
Britannia's ifle, the Ocean's stately queen ;
In vain the nations have confpir'd her fall,
Her trench the sea, and feets her floating wall ;
Defenceless barks, her powerful navy near,
Have only waves and hurricanes to fear.
What bold invader, or what land oppress’d,
Hath not her anger quell'd, her aid redress’d?
Say, where have e'er her union crofles fail'd,
But much her arms, her justice more prevail'd?
Her labours are to plead th' Almighty's cause,
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 Russia's throne
The king %, whose pow'r half Europe's regions own,
Whose scepter waving, with one shout rush forth
In swarms the harness’d millions of the north;
Through realms of ice pursu'd his tedious way,
To court our friendship, and our fame survey !

&

8 Peter the Great, who visited England in the year 1698, and refided bere some time,

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Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore,
And round his empire spread the learned fiore,
(T'adorn old realms is more than new to raise,
His country's parent is a monarch's praise.)
His bands now march in just array to war,
And Caspian gulfs unusual navies bear;
With Runic lays Smolensko's forests ring,
And wond'ring Volga hears the Muses fing.
Did not the painted kings of India greet
Our Queen, and lay their sceptres at her feet?
Chiefs who full bowls of hostile blood had quaff'd,
Fam'd for the javelin, and invenom’d Naaft;
Whose haughty brows made savages adore,
Nor bow'd to less than stars, or fun before :
Her pitying smile accepts their suppliant claim,
And adds four monarchs to the Chriftian name.

Bleft use of pow'r! O virtuous pride in kings !
And like his bounty, whence dominion springs !
Which o'er new worlds makes heaven's indulgence shine,
And ranges myriads under laws divine !
Well bought with all that those sweet regions hold,
With groves of spices, and with mines of gold.

h Four Indian kings or chiefs, of the fix nations lying between New England and Canada, arrived in England in the year 1710, and had a public audience of the queen on the 19th of April. They continued here about two or three weeks, and were entertained during that time by fee veral persons of quality. Mention is made of them in the Tatler, No, 371, and the Spectator No. 5o.

Fearles

Fearless our merchant now pursues his gain,
And roams securely o’er the boundless main.
Now o'er his head the polar Bear he spies,
And freezing spangles of the Lapland kies ;
Now swells his canvass to the fultry Line,
With glitt'ring spoils where Indian grottoes shine ;
Where fumes of incense glad the southern seas,
And wafted citron fcents the balmy breeze.
Here nearer funs prepare the rip'ning gem,
To grace great Anne's imperial diadem;
And here the ore, whose melted mass shall yield
On faithful coins each memorable field;
Which, mix'd with medals of immortal Rome,
May clear disputes, and teach the time to come.

In circling beams shall godlike AnnA glow,
And Churchill's sword hang o'er the proftrate foe ;
In comely wounds shall bleeding worthies ftand,
Webb's i firm platoon, and Lumley's k faithful band !
Bold Mordaunt 'in Iberian trophies dress’d,
And Campbell's m dragon on his dauntless breast;
Great Ormond's n deeds on Vigo's spoils enrolld,
And Guiscard's knife on Harley's Chili gold.

i General Webb.
* General Lumley, brother to the earl of Scarborough.

Charles Mordaunt, earl of Peterborough, commander in chief in Spain.

John Campbell, Duke of Argyle. • The duke of Ormond was commander of the land forces at the taking of Vigo, October 12, 1702.

And

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And if the Muse, O BRISTOL, might decree,
Here Granville o noted by the lyre should be,
The lyre for Granville, and the cross for thee.

Such are the honours grateful Britain pays,
So patriots merit, and so monarchs praise.
O’er distant times such records shall prevail,
When English numbers, antiquated, fail :
A trifling song the Muse can only yield,
And footh her soldiers panting from the field;
To sweet retirements see them safe convey'd,
And raise their battles in the rural shade.
From fields of death to Woodstock’s peaceful glooms
(The poet's haunt) Britannia's hero comes-
Begin, my Muse, and softly touch the string :
Here Henry Plov’d; and Chaucer ' learn'd to fing.

Hail fabled grotto! hail Elysian foil!
Thou faireft spot of fair Britannia's ifle !
Where kings of old conceal'd forgot the throne,
And beauty was content to shine unknown ;
Where love and war by turns pavilions rear,
And Henry's bow'rs near Blenheim's dome appear;
The weary'd champion lull in soft alcoves,
The nobleft boast of thy romantic groves.

George Granville, Esg; afterwards Lord Landsdowne. Henry II. 9 Chaucer is said to have written several of his poems at Woodstock.

Oft,

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