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The Gauls, who never in their courts could find
Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd,
Doubt if they're thofe, whom dreadful to the view
In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew,
At whose dire names ten thousand widows prefs'd
Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast,
In filent rapture each his foe furveys,
They vow firm friendship, and give mutual praise.
Brave minds, howe'er at war, are fecret friends,
Their gen'rous difcord with the battle ends;
In peace they wonder whence diffention rose,
And ask how fouls fo like could e'er be foes.
Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound,
And focial clarions mix their sprightly found;
The British flags are furl'd, her troops difband,
And scatter'd armies feek their native land.
The hardy veteran, proud of many a scar,
The manly charms and honours of the war,
Who hop'd to share his friend's illuftrious doom,
And in the battle find a foldier's tomb,
Leans on his fpear to take his farewel view,
And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.
Ye generous fair, receive the brave with smiles,
O'erpay their fleepless nights, and crown their toils;
Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due,
For you they conquer, and they bleed for you.
In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain confpires,
When English valour English beauty fires;
The nations dread your eyes, and kings defpair
Of chiefs fo brave, 'till they have nymphs fo fair.
See the fond wife, in tears of tranfport drown'd,
Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er every wound;
Hangs on the lips, that fields of blood relate,
And fmiles or trembles, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl. he draws the fancied line,
And marks feign'd trenches in the flowing wine,
Then fets th' invested fort before her eyes,
And mines that whirl'd battalions to the skies;
His little lift'ning progeny turn pale,
And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.
Such dire atchievements fings the bard that tells
Of palfrey'd dames, bold knights, and magic fpells;
Where whole brigades one champion's arms o'erthrow,
And cleave a giant at a random blow;
Slay paynims vile, that force the fair; and tame
The goblin's fury, and the dragon's flame.
Our eager youth to diftant nations run,
To vifit fields their valiant fathers won ;
From Flandria's fhore their country's fame they trace,
'Till far Germania fhews her blafted face.
Th' exulting Briton afks his mournful guide,
Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd ;
Where Stepney grav'd the stone to ANNA's fame:
He points to Blenheim, once a vulgar name;
George Stepney, Efq; a gentleman, who although much celebrated by his contemporaries for poetical genius, is at prefent more known as a Statesman
Here fled the Houfhold, there did Tallard yield,
Here Marlb'rough turn'd the fortune of the field; s
On thofe steep banks, near Danube's raging flood,maq
The Gauls thrice ftarted back, and trembling food
When, Churchill's arm perceiv'd, they stood not long.
But plung'd amidst the waves, a defp'rate throng;
Crowds whelm'd on crowds dafh'd wide the watry bed,
And drove the current to its diftant head.
As when by Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands,
A warlike courser on the canvass stands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond f bore,
Or fet young Ammon on the Granic fhore;
If chance a gen'rous steed the work behold,
He fnorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold :.
So, Hocftet feen, tumultuous paffions roll,
And hints of glory fire the Briton's foul;
a Statesman than a Poet. He was born at Weftminster, in the year 1663, and, having become intimately acquainted with Charles Montague, afterwards Earl of Halifax, at Trinity College, Cambridge, through his means procured himself the appointment of ambafador to feveral foreign courts, where he acquitted himfelf with great ability and fuccefs. He died at Chelfea in the year 1707, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
At the battle of Blenheim, the marshal Tallard was taken prifoner by the Duke of Marlborough, and, with twenty-fix other officers of diftinction, brought to England, where he continued in confinement a confiderable time.
f At the battle of Landen, the Duke of Ormond was taken prifoner, and exchanged for the Duke of Berwick.
In fancy'd fights he fees the troops engage,
And all the tempeft of the battle rage.
Charm me, ye pow'rs, with scenes less 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 list of fame!)
Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
Firft funk the filial fubject to a slave;
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 sweat 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 roses 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 canvafs 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 hearthee speak might the fierce Vandal stand,
And fling the brandifh'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 fmiling infants doom,
Nor spare the promise of the pregnant womb;
O'er wafted kingdoms fpread 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 she 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 fprings;