Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

ON THE
PROSPECT OF PEACE,

A POE M.

To the LORD PRIVY.SEAL,

By Mr. TICKEL L.

Sacerdos

Fronde Super MITRAM, et fælici comptus oliva. VIRG.

[ocr errors]

Ontending kings, and fields of death, too long
Have been the subject of the British song.
Who hath not read of fam'd Ramilia's plain,
Bavaria's fall, and Danube choak'd with flain✈
Exhaufted themes! A gentler note I raise,
And fing returning Peace in fofter lays.
A 2

Their

Their fury quell'd, and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our heroes in the fylvan shade.
Difbanding hofts are imag'd to my mind,

And warring pow'rs in friendly leagues combin'd;
While eafe and pleasure make the nations fmile,
And heav'n and ANNA blefs Britannia's ifle.

Well fends our Queen her mitred BRISTOL forth,
For early counfels fam'd, and long-try'd worth,
Who, thirty rolling years, had oft with-held
The Suede and Saxon from the dufty field;
Compleatly form'd, to heal the Christian wounds,
To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds;
The face of ravag'd nature to repair,

By leagues to foften earth, and heav'n by pray'r;
To gain by love, where rage and slaughter fail,
And make the crofier o'er the fword prevail.

So when great Mofes, with JEHOVAH's wand,
Had fcatter'd plagues o'er ftubborn Pharaoh's land,
Now spread an hoft of locufts round the fhore,
Now turn'd Nile's fatt'ning ftreams to putrid gore;
Plenty and gladness mark'd the priest of God,
And fudden almonds fhot from Aaron's rod.

O thou, from whom these bounteous bleffings flow,
To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe,
(For next to thee, the man whom kings contend
To ftile companion, and to make their friend,
Great STRAFFORD, rich in every courtly grace,
With joyful pride accepts the fecond place,)

From

From Britain's ifle, and Ifis' facred spring
One hour, oh! liften while the Mufes fing.
Though minifters of mighty monarchs wait,
With beating hearts, to learn their master's fate,
One hour forbear to speak thy Queen's commands,
Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected ftands;
The blissful profpects, in my verse display'd,
May lure the ftubborn, the deceiv'd perfuade,
Ev'n thou to peace fhalt speedier urge the way,
And more be haften'd by this short delay.

The haughty Gaul, in ten campaigns o'erthrown,
Now ceas'd to think the western world his own.
Oft had he mourn'd his boafting leaders bound,
And his proud bulwarks fmoaking on the ground;
In vain with pow'rs renew'd he fill'd the plain,
Made tim❜rous vows, and brib'd the faints in vain ;
As oft his legions did the fight decline,

Lurk'd in the trench, and skulk'd behind the line.
Before his eyes the fancy'd javelin gleams;
At feafts he starts, and feems dethron'd in dreams;
On glory past reflects with fecret pain,

On mines exhaufted, and on millions flain.

To Britain's Queen the fcepter'd fuppliant bends,
To her his crowns and infant race commends,
Who grieves her fame with chriftian blood to buy,
Nor afks for glory at a price fo high.

At her decree the war fufpended stands,

And Britain's heroes hold their lifted hands :

[blocks in formation]

Their open brows no threat'ning frowns difguife,
But gentler paffions sparkle in their eyes.

The Gauls, who never in their courts could find
Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd,
Doubt if they're thofe, whom dreadful to the view
In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew,
At whofe dire names ten thousand widows prefs'd
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 gen'rous difcord with the battle ends;
In peace they wonder whence diffention rose,
And afk how fouls fo like could e'er be foes.

Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound,
And focial clarions mix their sprightly found;
The British flags are furl'd, her troops disband,
And scatter'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 friend's illuftrious doom,
And in the battle find a foldier's tomb,
Leans on his fpear to take his farewel view,
And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.

Ye generous fair, receive the brave with fmiles,
O'erpay their sleepless nights, and crown their toils;
Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due,

For you they conquer, and they bleed for you.

In

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.

See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,
Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er every wound;
Hangs on the lips, that fields of blood relate,
And smiles and trembles, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl he draws the fancied 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 lift'ning progeny turn pale,

And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.

Such dire atchievements 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 panyms 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 náme;

[blocks in formation]
« ПредишнаНапред »