To horid Zembla's frozen realms repair,
There with the baleful beldam, Night,
Unpeopled empire share,

And rob thofe lands of legal right.
For now is come the promis'd hour,
When Juftice fhall have power;
Juftice to earth reftor'd!

Again Astrea reigns!

Anna her equal scale maintains,

And Marlborough wields her fure deciding fword.

I.

Now, couldst thou foar, my Muse, to fing the man
In heights fublime, as when the Mantuan fwan
Her towering pinions spread;

Thou should'st of Marlborough fing, whose hand
Unerring, from his Queen's command,

Far as the feven-mouth'd Ifter's fecret head,
To fave th" Imperial state, her hardy Britons led,

II.

Nor there thy song should end; though all the Nine
Might well their harps and heavenly voices join

To fing that glorious day,

When bold Bavaria fled the field,

And veteran Gauls unus'd to yield

On Blenheim's Plain imploring mercy lay; And spoils and trophies won, perplex'd the victor's way,

III.

But could thy voice of Blenheim fing,

And with fuccefs that fong purfue;
What art could aid thy wearied wing

To keep the victor still in view?
M.

For

For as the fun ne'er ftops his radiant flight,
Nor fets but with impartial ray
To all who want his light
Alternately transfers the day :
So in the glorious round of fame,
Great Marlborough, ftill the fame,
Inceffant runs his courfe :

To climes remote, and near,

His conquering arms by turns appear, And univerfal is his aid and force.

I.

Attempt not to proceed, unwary Muse,

For O! what notes, what numbers could'ft thou chufe Though in all numbers skill'd:

*To fing the hero's matchless deed,

Which Belgia fav'd, and Brabant freed; To fing Ramillia's day! to which must yield Canna's illuftrious fight, and fam'd Pharfalia's field.

II.

In the fhort courfe of a diurnal fun,
Behold the work of many ages done!

What verfe fuch worth can raife?

Luftre and life, the Poet's art

To middle virtue may impart ;

But deeds fublime, exalted high like these, Tranfcend his utmost fight; and mock his distant praise.

III.

Still would the willing Mufe afpire,

With transport still her ftrains prolong;

But fear unftrings the trembling lyre,

And admiration ftops her fong.

Go

Go on, great chief, in Anna's cause proceed;
Nor fheath the terrors of thy fword,

Till Europe thou haft freed,

And univerfal peace reftor'd.

This mighty work when thou fhalt end,

Equal rewards attend,

Of value far above

Thy trophies and thy fpoils;

Rewards ev'n worthy of thy toils,

Thy Queen's juft favour, and thy Country's love.

To the Right Honourable the

EARL OF GODOLPHIN,

Lord HIGH-TREASURER of GREAT BRITAIN.

PINDARI CODE.

61 Quemvis mediâ erue turbâ :

"Aut ob avaritiam, aut miferâ ambitione laborat. "Hunc capit argenti fplendor

"Hic mutat merces furgente à fole, ad eum quo Vefpertina tepet regio: quin per mala præceps "Fertur

"Omnes hi metuunt verfus, odere poetas."

I.

HOR. L. I. Sat. iv.

To hazardous attempts and hardy toils,

Ambition fome excites;

And fome, defire of martial spoils
To bloody fields invites ;

Others, infatiate thirst of gain

Provokes to tempt the dangerous main,
To pass the burning line, and bear

Th' inclemency of winds, and feas, and air;
Preffing the doubtful voyage till India's fhore

Her fpicy bofom bares, and fpreads her fhining ore.

II. Nor

II,

Nor widows tears, nor tender orphans cries,
Can ftop th' invader's force;

Nor fwelling feas, nor threatening skies, Prevent the pirate's course : Their lives to felfish ends decreed, Through blood or rapine they proceed; No anxious thoughts of ill repute Sufpend th' impetuous and unjust pursuit : But power and wealth obtain'd, guilty and great, Their fellow-creatures fears they raise, or urge their hate.

III.

But not for these his ivory lyre
Will tuneful Phoebus ftring,

Nor Polyhymnia crown'd amid the choir,
Th' immortal epode fing.

Thy fprings, Caftalia, turn their streams afide
From rapine, avarice, and pride;
Nor do thy greens, fhady Aonia, grow,
To bind with wreaths a tyrant's brow.

I.

How juft, most mighty Jove, yet how fevere
Is thy fupreme decree,

That impious men fhall joyless hear

The Mufes' harmony!

Their facred fongs, (the recompence
Of virtue and of innocence)

Which pious minds to rapture raise,

And worthy deeds at once excite and praise,