But when (fo Heaven ordains!) her smiling ray
Distinguish'd o'er the balance shall prefide,
Whilft future kings her ancient fceptre fway,
May her mild influence all their councils guide :
To Albion ever conftant in her love,
Of Sovereigns here the best, the brightest star above.
For lawless power, reclaim'd to right, And virtue rais'd by pious arms.
Let Albion be thy fair delight,
And fhield her fafe from threaten'd harms:
With flowers and fruit her bofom fill,
Let laurel rife on every hill
Fresh as the first on Daphne's brow:
Inftruct her tuneful fons to fing,
And make each vale with Pæans ring,
To Blenheim and Ramillia due.
Secure of bright eternal fame,
With happy wing the Theban fwan
Towering from Pifa's facred stream,
Infpir'd by thee the fong began :
Through defarts of unclouded light,
When he harmonious took his flight,
The gods constrain'd the founding spheres:
Still Envy darts her rage in vain,
The luftre of his worth to stain,
He growing whiter with his years.
But, Phœbus, god of numbers, high to raise
The honours of thy art, and heavenly lyre,
What Muse is destin❜d to our sovereign's praise,
Worthy her acts, and thy informing fire?
To him, for whom this springing laurel grows,
Eternal on the topmost heights of fame,
Be kind, and all thy Helicon disclose;
And all intent on Gloriana's name,
Let filence brood o'er ocean, earth, and air,
As when to victor Jove thou fung'st the giants war.
In fure records each fhining deed,
When faithful Clio fets to view,
Pofterity will doubting read,
And scarce believe her annals true :
The Mufes toil with art to raise
Fictitious monuments of praise,
When other actions they rehearse ;
But half of Gloriana's reign,
That fo the reft may credit gain,
Should pafs unregister'd in verfe.
High on its own establish'd base
Prevailing virtue's pleas'd to rife;
Divinely deck'd with native grace,
Rich in itself with solid joys :
Ere Gloriana on the throne,
Quitting for Albion's rest her own,
of regal power was feen:
With fair pre-eminence confeft
It triumph'd in a private breaft,
And made the Princess more than Queen,
O Phœbus! would thy godhead not refuse
This humble incenfe, on thy altar laid;
Would thy propitious ear attend the Muse,
That fuppliant now invokes thy certain aid;
With Mantuan force I'd mount a stronger gale,
And fing the parent of her land, who strove
T'exceed the tranfports of her people's zeal,
With acts of mercy, and majestic love;
By fate, to fix Britannia's empire, given
The guardian power of earth, and public care of heaven.
Then, Churchill, fhould the Muse record
The conquefts by thy sword atchiev'd;
Quiet to Belgian states reftor'd,
And Austrian crowns by thee retriev'd.
Imperious Leopold confefs'd
His hoary majefty distress'd;
To arms, to arms, Bavaria calls,
Nor with lefs terror fhook his throne
Than when the rifing crefcent fhone
Malignant o'er his shatter'd walls.
The warrior led the Britons forth On foreign fields to dare their fate Diftinguish'd fouls of fhining worth, In war unknowing to retreat :
Thou, Phoebus, faw'ft the hero's face,
When Mars had breath'd a purple grace,
And mighty fury fill'd his breast:
How like thyself, when to destroy
The Greeks thou didst thy darts employ,
Fierce with thy golden quiver drest !
Sudden, whilst banish'd from his native land, Red with dishoneft wounds Bavaria mourn'd, The Chief, at Gloriana's high command, Like a rouz'd lion to the Maes return'd; With vengeful speed the British fword he drew, Unus'd to grieve his hoft with long delay; Whilft wing'd with fear the force of Gallia flew ; As when the morning ftar reftores the day, The wandering ghosts of twenty thousand slain Fleet fullen to the fhades from Blenheim's mournful plain.
Britannia, wipe thy dufty brow,
And put the Bourbon laurels on;
To thee deliver'd nations bow,
And blefs the spoils thy wars have won.
For thee Bellona points her fpear,
And whilft lamenting mothers fear,
On high her fignal torch displays;
But when thy fword is fheath'd, again
Obfequious fhe receives thy chain,
And smooths her violence of face.
Parent of arms! for ever stand
With large increase of fame rever'd,
Whilft arches to thy faving hand
On Danube's grateful banks are rear'd.
Eugene, infpir'd to war by thee,
Aufonia's weeping states to free,
Swift on th' imperial eagle flies;
Whilft, bleeding, from his azure bed
Th' afferted Iber lifts his head,
And safe his Auftrian lord enjoys.
I Britannia! fix'd on foreign wars,
Guiltlefs of civil rage extend thy name :
The waves of utmost ocean, and the stars,
Are bounds but equal to thy fovereign's fame.
With deeper wrath thy victor lion roars,
Wide o'er the fubject world diffusing fear,
Whilft Gallia weeps her guilt, and peace implores ;
So Earth, transfix'd by fierce Minerva's spear,
A gentler birth obedient did disclose;
And fudden from the wound eternal olives rofe.
When with establish'd freedom bless'd,
The globe to great Alcides bow'd,
Whofe happy power reliev'd th' opprefs'd
From lawless chains, and check'd the proud ;
Mature in fame, the grateful gods
Receiv'd him to their bright abodes:
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