In fancy'd fights he fees the troops engage,
And all the tempeft of the battle rage.
Charm me, ye pow'rs, with scenes lefs nobly bright, Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Muse delight, Content to fee the horrors of the field
By plough-fhares levell'd, or in flow'rs conceal'd.
O'er shatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grafs luxuriant cloath the harmless mine,
Tame flocks afcend the breach without a wound,
Or crop the baftion, now a fruitful ground;
While fhepherds fleep, along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable shade.
Who was the man, (Oblivion blast his name,
Torn out and blotted from the lift of fame !)
Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
Firft funk the filial fubject to a flave;
His neighbour's realms by frauds un-kingly gain'd,
In guiltless blood the facred ermine ftain'd;
Laid schemes for death, to flaughter turn'd his heart,
And fitted murder to the rules of art!
Ah! curs'd ambition, to thy lures we owe
All the great ills that mortals bear below.
Curs'd by the hind, when to the spoil he yields
His year's whole fweat and vainly-ripen'd fields;
Curs'd by the maid, torn from her lover's fide,
When left a widow, though not yet a bride;
By mothers curs'd, when floods of tears they shed,
And fcatter ufelefs rofes on the dead.
Oh facred BRISTOL! then what dangers prove
The arts, thou smil'ft on with paternal love?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvass glows;
To fhades obfcure the glitt'ring fword pursues
The gentle Poet and defenceless Mufe.
A voice, like thine alone, might then affuage
The warrior's fury, and controul his rage;
To hear thee speak might the fierce Vandal stand,
And fling the brandish'd fabre from his hand.
Far hence be driv'n to Scythia's ftormy fhore
The drum's harsh mufick, and the cannon's roar;
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain,
Where Tartar-clans and grifly Coffacs reign;
Let the fteel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravish'd with relentless eyes;
To death grey heads and smiling infants doom,
Nor spare the promife of the pregnant womb;
O'er wafted kingdoms spread his wide command,
The favage lord of an unpeopled land.
Her guiltless glory juft Britannia draws
From pure religion, and impartial laws :
To Europe's wounds a 'mother's aid fhe brings,
And holds in equal fcales the rival kings:
Her gen'rous fons in choiceft gifts abound,
Alike in arms, alike in arts renown'd.
As when sweet Venus, (fo the fable fings)
Awak'd by Nereids, from the Ocean springs;
With smiles she fees the threat'ning billows rife,
Spreads fmooth the furge, and clears the louring fkies;
Light, o'er the deep, with flutt'ring Cupids crown'd,
The pearly conch and filver turtles bound;
Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.
Amidst the world of waves fo ftands ferene
Britannia's ifle, the Ocean's ftately queen;
In vain the nations have confpir'd her fall,
Her trench the fea, and fleets her floating wall;
Defenceless barks, her powerful navy near,
Have only waves and hurricanes to fear.
What bold invader, or what land opprefs'd,
Hath not her anger quell'd, her aid redress'd
Say, where have e'er her union croffes fail'd,
But much her arms, her juftice more prevail'd?
Her labours are to plead th' Almighty's caufe,
Her pride to teach th' untam'd barbarian laws :
Who conquers, wins by brutal ftrength the prize;
But 'tis a godlike work to civilize.
Have we forgot, how from great Ruffia's throne
The king, whofe pow'r half Europe's regions own,
Whose scepter waving, with one fhout rufh forth
In fwarms the harnefs' d millions of the north;
Through realms of ice purfu'd his tedious way,
To court our friendship, and our fame survey!
* Peter the Great, who vifited England in the year 1698, and refided here fome time.
Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore,
And round his empire fpread the learned store,
(T' adorn old realms is more than new to raise,
His country's parent is a monarch's praife.)
His bands now march in just array to war,
And Cafpian gulfs unusual navies bear;
With Runic lays Smolenfko's forests ring,
And wond'ring Volga hears the Mufes fing.
Did not the painted kings of India greet
Our Queen, and lay their fceptres at her feet?
Chiefs who full bowls of hoftile blood had quaff'd,
Fam'd for the javelin, and invenom'd shaft;
Whofe haughty brows made favages adore,
Nor bow'd to less than stars, or sun before :
Her pitying fmile accepts their fuppliant claim,
And adds four monarchs to the Chriftian name.
Bleft ufe of pow'r! O virtuous pride in kings!
And like his bounty, whence dominion fprings!
Which o'er new worlds makes heaven's indulgence shine,
And ranges myriads under laws divine !
Well bought with all that those fweet regions hold,
With groves of fpices, and with mines of gold.
"Four Indian kings or chiefs, of the fix nations lying between New England and Canada, arrived in England in the year 1710, and had a public audience of the queen on the 19th of April. They continued here about two or three weeks, and were entertained during that time by feveral perfons of quality. Mention is made of them in the Tatler, No, 171, and the Spectator No. 50.
Fearless our merchant now purfues his gain, And roams fecurely o'er the boundless main. Now o'er his head the polar Bear he spies, And freezing spangles of the Lapland skies Now fwells his canvass to the fultry Line, With glitt'ring fpoils where Indian grottoes shine; Where fumes of incenfe glad the fouthern feas, And wafted citron fcents the balmy breeze. Here nearer funs prepare the rip'ning gem, To grace great ANNE's imperial diadem ; And here the ore, whofe melted mass shall yield On faithful coins each memorable field; Which, mix'd with medals of immortal Rome, May clear disputes, and teach the time to come. In circling beams fhall godlike ANNA glow, And Churchill's fword hang o'er the proftrate foe; In comely wounds fhall bleeding worthies ftand, Webb's firm platoon, and Lumley's faithful band! Bold Mordaunt in Iberian trophies dress'd,
And Campbell's m dragon on his dauntless breaft ;
Great Ormond's " deeds on Vigo's spoils enroll'd,
And Guiscard's knife on Harley's Chili gold.
* General Lumley, brother to the earl of Scarborough.
1 Charles Mordaunt, earl of Peterborough, commander in chief in
* The duke of Ormond was commander of the land forces at the
taking of Vigo, October 12, 1702.
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