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No!---The contending nations sung his praise;
While bards of ev'ry clime

Exert their most triumphant lays,

No thought too great, no diction too sublime.
Hail, glorious Prince! 'tis not for thee we grieve,
For thy invulnerable fame

No diminution can receive;

Thou, mighty man! art still the same,

Thy purer gold eludes the flame;

This fiery trial makes thy virtue shine,

And persecution crowns thy brows with rays divine.
But what, alas! shall fainting Europe do?
How stand the shock of her imperious foe?
What successor shall bear the weight

Of all our cares, and prop the state?
Since thou our Atlas art remov'd,

O best deserving Chief! and therefore best belov'd?

III.

To your own Blenheim's blissful seat
From this ungrateful world retreat,

A gift unequal to that hero's worth

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Who from the peaceful Thames led our bold Britons

To free the Danube and the Rhine;

Who by the thunder of his arms

Shook the proud Rhone with loud alarms,

[forth

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And rais'd a tempest in the trembling Seine.

After the long fatigues of war

Repose your envy'd virtues here;

Enjoy, my Lord, the sweet repast
Of all your glorious toils,

A pleasure that shall ever last,

The mighty comfort that proceeds

From the just sense of virtuous deeds;

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Content with endless fame, contemn the meaner

Pomona calls and Pan invites

To rural pleasures, chaste delights;

[spoils.

The orange and the citron grove

Will by your hand alone improve;
Would fain their gaudy liv'ries wear,

And wait your presence to revive the year.
In this Elysium more than bless'd,

Laugh at the vulgar's senseless hate,

The politician's vain deceit,

The fawning knave, the proud ingrate.

Revolve in your capacious breast

The various unforeseen events,

And unexpected accidents

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That change the flatt'ring scene, and overturn the

Frail are our hopes, and short the date

Of grandeur's transitory state.

Corinthian brass shall melt away,

And Parian marble shall decay:

The vast Colossus, that on either shore
Exulting stood, is now no more;

Arts and artificers shall die,

And in one common ruin lie.

[great.

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Behold your own majestic palace rise
In haste to emulate the skies;

The gilded globes, the pointed spires;
See the proud dome's ambitious height,
Emblem of pow'r and pompous state,
Above the clouds aspires:

Yet Vulcan's spite, or angry Jove,
May soon its tow'ring pride reprove,

Its painted glories soon efface,

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Divide the pond'rous roof, and shake the solid base.

Material structures must submit to Fate;

But virtue, which alone is truly great,

Virtue like your's, my Lord, shall be
Secure of immortality.

No foreign force, nor factious rage,
Nor envy nor devouring age,
Your lasting glory shall impair;

Time shall mysterious truths declare,
And works of darkness shall disclose;
This blessing is reserv'd for you
T'outlive the trophies to your merit due,
And malice of your foes.

In glorious actions, in a glorious cause,
If valour negligent of praise,

Deserving, yet retiring, from applause,
In gen'rous minds can great ideas raise;
If Europe sav'd, and liberty restor❜d,
By steady conduct and a prosp'rous sword,

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Can claim in freeborn souls a just esteem,
Britain's victorious chief shall be

Rever'd by late posterity,

The hero's pattern and the poet's theme.

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ODE,

OCCASIONED BY

THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S
Embarking for Ostend, Anno 1712.

YE Pow'rs who rule the boundless deep,
Whose dread commands the winds obey,
To roll the waters on a heap,
Or smooth the liquid way,

Propitious hear Britannia's pray'r;
Britannia's hope is now your care,
Whom oft to yonder distant shore
Your hospitable billows bore,
When Europe in distress implor'd
Relief from his victorious sword;
Who, when the mighty work was done,
Tyrants repel'd and battles won,

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On your glad waves, proud of the glorious load,"

Thro' these your wat'ry realms in yearly triumph rodę. To winds and seas, distress'd, he flies,

From storms at land, and faction's spite:

Tho' the more fickle crowd denies,

The winds, the seas, shall do his virtue right.

Be hush'd, ye Winds! be still, ye Seas!
Ye Billows! sleep at ease,

And in your rocky caverns rest;

Let all be calm as the great hero's breast.

Here no unruly passions reign,

Nor servile fear nor proud disdain,

Each wilder lust is banish'd hence,

Where gentle Love presides, and mild benevolence,
Here no gloomy cares arise;

Conscious honour still supplies

Friendly hope and peace of mind,

Such as dying martyrs find.

Serene within, no guilt he knows,

While all his wrongs sit heavy on his foes,

II.

Say, Muse! what hero shall I sing,

What great example bring,

To parallel this mighty wrong,

And with his graceful woes adorn my song?
Shall brave Themistocles appear

Before the haughty Persian's throne?
While conquer'd chiefs confess their fear,
And shatter'd fleets his triumphs own;

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