Renown'd in verfe each fhady thicket grows,
And ev'ry stream in heavenly numbers flows.
How am I pleas'd to fearch the hills and woods
For rifing fprings and celebrated floods!
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his fource,
To fee the Mincio draw his wat'ry store
Through the long windings of a fruitful fhore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O'er the warm bed of smoking fulphur glide.
Fir'd with a thousand raptures I furvey
Eridanus through flow'ry meadows stray,
The king of floods! that, rolling o'er the plains,
The tow ring Alps of half their moifture drains,
And, proudly fwoln with a whole winter's fnows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.

Sometimes, mifguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for ftreams immortaliz'd in fong,
That loft in filence and oblivion lie

(Dumb are their fountains, and their channels:
dry),

Yet run for ever by the Mufe's skill,

And in the fmooth defcription murmur ftill.

Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam`d river's empty fhores admire,
That, destitute of strength, derives its courfe
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful fource;
Yet, fung fo often in poetic lays,

With foorn the Danube and the Nile furveys;
So high the deathlefs mufe exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious ftream,
That in Hibernian vales obfcurely stray'd,
And, unobferv'd, in wild meanders play'd;
Till, by your lines and Naffau's fword renown'd,
Its rifing billows through the world refound;
Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal veife.

Oh could the Muse my ravish'd breaft infpire
With warmth like yours, and raite an equal fire,
Unnumber'd beauties in my verfe fhould shine,
And Virgil's Italy fhould yield to mine!
See how the golden groves around me fimile,
That fhun the coaft of Britain's ftormy ifle,
Or, when transplanted and preferv'd with care,
Curfe the cold clime, and farve in northern air.
Here kindly warmth their mountain juice fer-

ments

To nobler taftes, and more exalted fcents;
E'en the rough rocks with tender myrdde bloom,
And trodden weeds fend out a rich perfume.
Bear me, fome God, to Baia's gentle feats;
Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
Where western gales eternally refide,
And all the feafons lavish all their pride;
Bloffoms, and fruits, and flow'rs together rife,
And the whole year in gay confuñion lies.

Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my foul a thousand-paflions strive,
When Rome's exalted beauties I defcry
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.
An amphitheatre's amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public fhows unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb;

Here pillars rough with fculpture pierce the skies;
And here the proud triumphal arches rise,
Where the old Romans deathlefs acts difplay'd
Their bafe degen'rate progeny upbraid;
Whole rivers here forfake the fields below,
And, wond'ring at their height, through airy
channels flow.

Still to new fcenes my wand'ring Mufe retires,
And the dumb fhow of breathing rocks admires;
Where the fmooth chifel all its force has fhewn,
And foften'd into fleth the rugged ftone.
In folemn filence, a majestic band,
Heroes, and gods, and Roman confuls, stand;
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors, in Parian marble frown;
While the bright dames, to whom they humbly
fued,

Still fhew the charms that their proud hearts fub-
dued.

Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And thew th' immortal labours in my verfe, Where, from the mingled ftrength of fhade and light,

A new creation rifes to my fight;

Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow,
From theme to theme with fecret pleasures toft,
Amidst the foft variety I'm loft.

Here pleafing airs my ravish'd foul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of sound;
Here doines and temples rife in diftant views,
And op'ning palaces invite my Mufe.

How has kind Heaven adorn'd the happy land,
And fcatter'd bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhaufted ftores,
Her blooming mountains, and her funny fhores,
With all the gifts that Heaven and earth impart,
The fmiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud Oppreflion in her valleys reigns,
And Tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The redd'ning orange and the fwelling grain ;
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines;
Starves, in the midft of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.
Oh Liberty, thou goddefs heavenly bright,
Profufe of blits, and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleafures in thy prefence reign,
And finiling Plenty leads thy wanton train ;
Eas'd of her load, Subjection grows inore light,
And Poverty looks cheerful in thy fight;
Thou mak' the gloomy face of Nature gay,
Giv'ft beauty to the Sun, and pleafure to the Day.
Thee, goddefs, thee Britannia's ifle adores;
How has the oft exhaufted all her ftores,
How oft, in fields of death, thy prefence fought,
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
On foreign mountains may the fun refine
The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine;
With citron groves adorn a distant foil,
And the fat olive fwell with floods of oil;
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgert skies;

Nor

WHILE crowds of princes your deferts pro- The vengeance due to their great death was near.

Our British youth, with in-born freedom bold,
Unnumber'd fcenes of fervitude behold,
Nations of flaves, with tyranny debas'd,
(Their Maker's image more than half defac'd)
Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil,

Το

prize their queen, and love their native foil.
Still to the rifing fun they take their way
Thro' clouds of duft, and gain upon the day.
When now the Neckar on its friendly coaft
With cooling ftreams revives the fainting host,
That cheerfully his labours paft forgets,
The midnight watches, and the noon-day heats.
O'er proftrate towns and palaces they pafs
(Now cover'd o'er with woods, and hid in grafs)
Breathing revenge; whilft anger and difdain
Fire ev'ry breaft, and boil in ev'ry vein.
Here fhatter'd walls, like broken rocks, from far
Rife up in hideous view, the guilt of war;
Whilft here the vine o'er hills of ruins climbs,
Induftrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes.

At length the fame of England's hero drew
Eugenio to the glorious interview.
Great fouls by instinct to each other turn,
Demand alliance, and in friendship burn;
A fudden friendship, while with ftretch'd-out rays
They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze.
Polish'd in courts, and harden'd in the field,
Renown'd for conqueft, and in council fkill'd,
Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood
Of mounting fpirits, and fermenting blood;
Lodg'd in the foul, with virtue over-rul'd,
Inflam'd by reason, and by reafon cool'd,
In hours of peace content to be unknown,
And only in the field of battle fhewn :
To fouls like thefe, in mutual friendship join'd,
Heaven dares entrust the cause of human-kind.

Britannia's graceful fons appear in arms,
Her harafs'd troops the hero's prefence warms;
Whilft the high hills and rivers all around
With thund'ring peals of British fhouts refound:
Doubling their peed, they march with fresh de-
light,

Eager for glory, and require the fight.

So the ftaunch hound the trembling deer purfues,
And fmells his footsteps in the tainted dews,
The tedious track uniav'illing by degrees:
But when the fcent comes warm in ev'ry breeze,
Fir'd at the near approach, he shoots away
On his full ftretch, and bears upon his prey.

The march concludes, the various realms are
Th'immortal Schellenberg appears at laft: [paft;
Like hills th' afpiring ramparts rife on high,
Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie;
Batt'ries on batt'ries guard each fatal pafs,
Threat'ning deftruction; rows of hollow brafs,
Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep,
Whilft in their wombs ten thoufand thunders
fleep.
[fight,
Great Churchill owns, charm'd with the glorious
His march o'erpaid by such a promis'd fight.
The western fun now shot a feeble ray,
And faintly fcatter'd the remains of day:
Ev'ning approach'd; but oh what hots of foes
Were never to behold that ev'ning clofe!

Thick'ning their ranks, and wedg'd in firm array
The clofe compacted Britons win their way;
In vain the cannon their throng'd war defac'd
With tracks of death, and laid the battle wafte
Still preffing forward to the fight, they broke
Thro' flames of fulphur and a night of smoke,
Till flaughter'd legions fill'd the trench below,
And bore their fierce avengers to the foe.

High on the works the mingling hofts engage
The battle, kindled into ten-fold rage,
With fhow'rs of bullets, and with ftorms of fire,
Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire;
Nations with nations mix'd confus'dly die,
And loft in one promifcuous carnage lie.

How many gen'rous Britons meet their doom,
New to the field, and heroes in their bloom!
Th' illuftrious youths, that left their native shore
To march where Britons never march'd befo.c
(Oh fatal love of fame! oh glorious heat,
Only deftructive to the brave and great!)
After fuch toils o'ercome, fuch dangers paft,
Stretch'd on Bavarian ramparts, breathe their laft.
But hold, my Mufe, may no complaints appear,
Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear:
While Marlb'rough lives, Britannia's ftars difpenfe
A friendly light, and thine in innocence:
Plunging through feas of blood his fiery steed
Where'er his friends retire, or foes fucceed;
Thofe he fupports, thele drives to fidden flight,"
And turns the various fortune of the light.

Forbear, great man, renown`d in arms, fubear
To brave the thickeft terrors of the war;
Nor hazard thus, confus'd in crowds of foes,
Britannia's fafety, and the world's repofe;
Let nations anxious for thy life abate
This fcorn of danger, and contempt of fate:
Thou liv'ft not for thyfelf; thy Queen demands
Conqueft and peace from thy victorious hands;
Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join,
And Europe's deftiny depends on thine.

At length the long-difputed pafs they gain,
By crowded armies fortified in vain; .
The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield,
And fee their camp with British legions fill'd.
So Belgian mounds bear on their fhatter'd fides
The fea's whole weight, increas'd with fwelling
But if the ruthing wave a paffage finds, [tides;
Enrag'd by wat'ry moons, and warring winds,
The trembling peafant fees his country round
Cover'd with tempefts, and in oceans drown'd.

The few furviving focs difpers'd in flight
(Refufe of fwords and gleanings of a fight)
In ev'ry rustling wind the victor hear,
And Marlborough's form in ev'ry fhadow fear,
Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace
Befriends the rout, and covers their difgrace.
To Donavert, with unrefifted force,
The gay victorious army bends its courfe.
The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields,
Whatever spoils Bavaria's fummer yields
(The Danube's great increafe) Britannia thares,
The food of armies and fupport of wars:
With magazines of death, deftru&tive balls,
And cannon doom'd to batter Landau's walls,
Bb
The

The victor finds each hidden cavern ftor'd,
And turns their fury on their guilty lord.
Deluded prince! how is thy greatnefs crofs'd,
And all the gaudy dream of empire loft,
That proudly fet thee on a fancied throne,
And made imaginary realms thy own!
Thy troops, that now behind the Danube join,
Shall fhortly feek for fhelter from the Rhine,
Nor find it there! Surrounded with alarms,
Thou hop'ft th' afliftance of the Gallic arms;
The Gallic arms in fafety fhall advance,
And crowd thy ftandards with the pow'r of France;
While, to exalt thy doom, th' afpiring Gaul
Shares thy deftruction, and adorns thy fall.

Unbounded courage and compaffion jom'd,
Temp'ring each other in the victor's mind,
Alternately proclaim him good and great,
And make the Hero and the Man complete.
Long did he ftrive th' obdurate foe to gain
By proffer'd grace, but long he ftrove in vain;
Till, fir'd at length, he thinks it vain to spare
His rifing wrath, and gives a loofe to war.
In vengeance rous'd, the foldier fills his hand
With fword and fire, and ravages the land;
A thoufand villages to afhes turns,
In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns.
To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat,
And mix'd with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat;
Their trembling lords the common fhade partake,
And cries of infants found in ev'ry brake:
The lift ning foldier fix'd in forrow stands,
Loth to obey his leader's just commands;
The leader grieves, by gen'rous pity fway'd,
To fee his just commands fo well obey'd.

But now the trumpet, terrible from far,
In fhriller clangors animates the war;
Confed'rate drums in fuller concert beat,
And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat:
Gallia's proud ftandards, to Bavaria's join'd,
Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind;
The daring prince his blafted hopes renews,
And, while the thick embattled hoft he views
Stretch'd out in deep array, and dreadful length,
His heart dilates, and glories in his ftrength.

The fatal day its mighty courfe began,
That the griev'd world had long defi'd in vain;
States that their new captivity bemoan'd,
Armies of martyrs that in exile groan'd,
Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard,
And pray'rs in bitterness of foul preferr'd,
Europe's loud cries, that Providence affail'd,
And Anna's ardent vows, at length prevail'd:
The day was come when Heaven defign'd to fhew
His care and conduct of the world below.

Behold in awful march and dread array
The long extended fquadrons shape their way!
Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
An anxious horror to the braveft hearts;
Yet do their beating breasts demand the ftrife,
And thirst of glory quells the love of life.
No vulgar fears can British minds controul :
Heat of revenge and noble pride of foul
Oerlook the foe, advantag'd by his poft,
Luffen his numbers, and contract his hoft;

Though fens and floods poffefs the middle space,
That unprovok'd they would have fear'd to país;
Nor fens nor floods can ftop Britannia's bands,
When her proud foe rang'd on their borders ftands.

But oh, my Mufe, what numbers wilt thou find
To fing the furious troops in battle join'd!
Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous found
The victors' fhouts and dying groans confound,
The dreadful burft of cannon rend the skies,
And all the thunder of the battle rife. [prov'd,
'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty foul was
That, in the fhock of charging hofts unmov'd,
Amidst confufion, horror, and defpair,
Examin'd all the dreadful feenes of war:
In peaceful thought the field of death furvey'd,
To fainting fquadrons fent the timely aid,
Infpir'd repuls'd battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So when an angel by divine command
With rifing tempcfts fhakes a guilty land,
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia pafs'd,
Calm and ferene he drives the furious blast ;
And, pleas'd th' Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the ftorm.

But fee the haughty houfchold-troops advance!
The dread of Europe, and the pride of France.
The war's whole art each private foldier knows,
And with a general's love of conqueft glows;
Proudly he marches on, and void of fear
Laughs at the shaking of the British spear :
Vain infolence! with native freedom brave,
The meaneft Briton fcorns the highest flave;
Contempt and fury fire their fouls by turns,
Each nation's glory in each warrior Lurns;
Each fights, as in his arm th' important day
And all the fate of his great monarch lay:
A thoufand glorious actions, that might claim
Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame,
Confus'd in crowds of glorious actions lie,
And troops of heroes undiftinguish'd die.
O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate,
And not the wonders of thy youth relate!
How can I fee the gay, the brave, the young,
Fall in the cloud of war. and lie unfung!
In joys of conqueft he refigns his breath,
And, fill'd with England's glory, fmiles in death.

The rout begins, the Gallic fquadrons run,
Compell'd in crowds to meet the fate they fhun;
Thoulards of fiery feeds with wounds transfix'd,
Floating in gore, with their dead masters mix'd,
'Micft heaps of fpears and ftandards driven around,
Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drown'd.
Troops of bold youths, born on the diftant Soane,
Or founding bo: ders of the rapid Rhone,
Or where the Scine her flow'ry fields divides,
Or where the Loire thro' winding vineyards glides,
In heaps the rolling billows fweep away,
And into Scythian feas their bloated corps convey.
From Blenheim's tow'rs the Gaul, with wild
Beholds the various havoc of the fight; [affright,
His waving banners, that so oft had frood
Planted in fields of death and ftreams of blood,
So wont the guarded enemy to reach,
And rife triumphant in the fatal breach,

Or