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Exhausted themes! A gentler note I raise,
And fing returning Peace in softer lays.
Theirfury quell'd, and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our heroes in the sylvan fhade.
Disbanding hosts are imag'd to my mind,
And warring pow'rs in friendly leagues combin'd;
While ease and pleasure make the nations smile,
And heav'n and ANNA bless Britannia's isle.

1708, he took the degree of M. A. and two years afterwards was chosen Fellow of his College. During his refidence at the University, the Opera of Rosamond was performed, and on its appearance, Mr. Tickell addressed a Poem to Mr. Addison, the Author, which was so well received, that it laid the foundation of an intimacy between the two friends, and proved of the greateft advantage to Mr. Tickell's fu. ture fortune. When Mr. Addison went to Ireland as Secretary to Lord Sunderland, Mr. Tickell accompanied him, and was employed in public business. In 1717, he became Under Secretary of State, and about 1725, was appointed Secretary to the Lords Justices of Ireland, a place of great honour, in the enjoyment whereof he continued unti! his death, which happened at Bath, on the 23d of April 1740.

o This was Dr. John Robinson, then Bishop of Bristol, but after. wards of London. He was born near Richmond in Yorkshire, and resided some years at Oriel College, Oxford, where he took the degree of M. A. March 5, 1683, and of D. D. by diploma, 7th of August 1710. He had lived many years in Sweden, first as Chaplain to the Ambassador, and afterwards in the quality of Ambassador himself. In both these stations he conducted himself with great credit and advantage to the government. On his return home, he was preferred to a Prebend at Canterbury, then to the Deanry of Windsor, and afterwards to the Bishoprick of Bristol. In 1711, the custody of the Privy Seal was given to him, and he was nominated one of the Plenipotentiaries to negotiate the treaty of Utrecht. On the 13th March, 1713, he was wanflated to the See of London, and died 11th of April 1723.

Well sends our Queen her mitred BRISTOL forth,
For early counsels fam'd, and long-try'd worth,
Who, thirty rolling years, had oft with-held
The Suede and Saxon from the dusty field;
Compleatly form’d, to heal the Christian wounds,
To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds ;
The face of ravag'd nature to repair,
By leagues to soften earth, and heav'n by pray'r;
To gain by love, where rage and slaughter fail,
And make the crosier o'er the sword prevail.

So when great Moses, with JEHOVAH's wand,
Had scatter'd plagues o'er stubborn Pharaoh's land,
Now spread an host of locusts round the shore,
Now turn'd Nile's fattning streams to putrid gore ;
Plenty and gladness mark'd the priest of God,
And sudden almonds shot from Aaron's rod.

O thou, from whom these bounteous blessings flow,
To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe,
(For next to thee, the man whom kings contend
To stile conipanion, and to make their friend,
Great STRAFFORDS, rich in every courtly grace,
With joyful pride accepts the second place,)
From Britain's ifle, and Ifis facred spring,
One hour, oh ! liften while the Muses fing,

• Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, joint Plenipotentiary with Bishop Robinson. He died in the year 1739:


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Though minifters of mighty monarchs wait,
With beating hearts, to learn their masters' fate,
One hour forbear to speak thy Queen's commands,
Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected stands ;
The blissful prospects, in my verse display'd,
May lure the stubborn, the deceiv'd persuade;
Ev'n thou to peace
fhalt speedier urge


way, And more be hasten’d by this short delay.

The haughty Gaul, in ten campaigns o’erthrown,
Now ceas'd to think the Western world his own,
Oft had he mourn'd his boasting leaders bound,
And his proud bulwarks smoaking on the ground;
In vain with pow'rs renew'd he fill'd the plain,
Made tim’rous vows, and brib'd the saints in vain ;
As oft his legions did the fight decline,
Lurk'd in the trench, and skulk'd behind the line.
Before his eyes the fancy'd javelin gleams;
At feasts he starts, and seems dethron’d in dreams;
On glory past reflects with secret pain,
On mines exhaufted, and on millions flain.

To Britain's Queen the scepter'd suppliant bends,
To her his crowns and infant race commends;
Who grieves her fame with christian blood to buy,
Nor aks for glory at a price so high.
At her decree the war suspended ftands,
And Britain's heroes hold their lifted hands :
Their open brows no threat'ning frowns disguise,
But gentler passions sparkle in their eyes.


The Gauls, who never in their courts could find
Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd,
Doubt if they're those, whom dreadful to the view
In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew,
At whose dire names ten thousand widows press’d
Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast.
In silent rapture each his foe surveys,
They vow firm friendship, and give mutual praise.
Brave minds, howe'er at war, are secret friends,
Their gen'rous discord with the battle ends;
In peace they wonder whence diffention rose,
And ask how souls so like could e'er be foes.

Methinks I hear more friendly shouts rebound,
And social clarions mix their sprightly found;
The British flags are furl'd, her troops disband,
And scatter'd armies seek 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 illustrious doom,
And in the battle find a soldier'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 sleepless nights, and crown their toils;
Soft beauty is the gallant soldier's due,
For you they conquer, and they bleed for you.
In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain conspires,
When English valour English beauty fires;
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The nations dread your eyes, and kings despair
Of chiefs so brave, 'till they have nymphs so fair,

See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,
Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er every wound

Hangs on the lips, that fields of blood relate,
And smiles 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 sets th' invested fort before her

And mines that whirld battalions to the skies;
His little lift'ning progeny turn pale,
And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.

Such dire archievements fings the bard that tells
Of palfrey'd dames, bold knights, and magic spells ;
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 distant nations run, To visit fields their valiant fathers won; From Flandria's fore their country's fame they trace, 'Till far Germania shews her blasted face. Th’exulting Briton alks his mournful guide, Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd ; Where d Stepney grav'd the stone to ANNA's fame: He points to Blenheim, once a yulgar name ;


George Stepney, Efq; a gentleman, who although much celebrated by his contemporaries for poetical genius, is at present more known as

a Statesman

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