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Curft by the hind, when to the spoil he yields
His year's whole sweat, and vainly ripen'd fields;
Curft by the maid, torn from her lover's fide,
When left a widow, though not yet a bride;
By mothers curft, when floods of tears they shed,
And scatter useless roses on the dead.

Oh, facred Bristol! then, what dangers prove
The arts, thou fmil'ft on with paternal love?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvas glows;
To shades obfcure the glittering fword purfues
The gentle poet, and defenceless Muse.
A voice like thine, alone, might then afswage
The warrior's fury, and control his rage;
To hear thee speak, might the fierce Vandal stand,
And fling the brandish'd fabre from his hand.

Far hence be driven to Scythia's ftormy fhore
The drum's harsh mufic, and the cannon's roar
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain,

Where Tartar clans and grizly Coffacks reign;
Let the fteel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravish'd with relentless eyes,
To death gray heads and smiling infants doom,
Nor fpare 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 fhe brings,
And holds in equal fcales the rival kings :

Her generous 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 the fees the threatening billows rise,
Spreads fmooth the furge, and clears the louring skies.
Light, o'er the deep, with fluttering Cupids crown'd,.
The pearly conch and filver turtles bound;
Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.

Amidft the world of waves fo ftands ferene
Britannia's ifle, the ocean's ftately queen;
In vain the nations have conspir'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 oppreft,
Hath not her anger quell'd, her aid redrest!
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 cause,
Her pride, to teach th' untam❜d barbarian laws :
Who conquers wins by brutal strength the prize;
But 'tis a godlike work to civilize.

Have we forgot how from great Ruffia's throne
The king, whofe power half Europe's regions own,
Whofe fceptre waving, with one shout rush forth
In fwarms the harnefs'd millions of the north,
Through realms of ice pursued his tedious way
To court our friendship, and our fame survey!
Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore,
And round his empire spread the learned store:

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(T' adorn old realms is more than new to raise,
His country's parent is a monarch's praise.)
His bands now march in just array to war,
And Cafpian gulphs unusual navies bear;
With Runick lays Smolensko's forests ring,
And wondering Volga hears the Muses 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 fhaft,
Whose haughty brows made favages adore,
Nor bow'd to lefs than ftars or fun before.
Her pitying smile accepts their fuppliant claim,
And adds four monarchs to the Chriftian name.

Bleft ufe of power! O virtuous pride in kings! And like his bounty, whence dominion springs ! Which o'er new worlds makes heaven's indulgence fhine, And ranges myriads under laws divine!

Well bought with all that those sweet regions hold,
With groves of fpices, and with mines of gold.
Fearless our merchant now pursues 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 canvas to the fultry line,

With glittering spoils where Indian grottoes fhine,
Where fumes of incense glad the southern seas,
And wafted citron fcents the balmy breeze.
Here nearer funs prepare the ripening gem,
To grace great Anne's imperial diadem,

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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 difputes, and teach the times 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 stand,
Webb's firm platoon, and Lumley's faithful band,
Bold Mordaunt in Iberian trophies dreft,

And Campbell's dragon on his dauntless breast,
Great Ormond's deeds on Vigo's fpoils enroll'd,
And Guifcard's knife on Harley's Chili gold.
And if the Muse, O Bristol, might decree,
Here Granville noted by the lyre should be,
The lyre for Granville, and the cross for thee.
Such are the honours grateful Britain pays;
So patriots merit, and fo monarchs praise.
O'er diftant times fuch records fhall prevail,
When English numbers, antiquated, fail:
A trifling fong the Mufe can only yield,
And footh her foldiers panting from the field.
To fweet retirements fee them fafe convey'd,
And raife their battles in the rural fhade.
From fields of death to Woodstock's peaceful glooms,
(The poet's haunt) Britannia's hero comes-
Begin, my Mufe, and foftly touch the ftring:
Here Henry lov'd; and Chaucer learn'd to fing.
Hail, fabled grotto! hail, Elyfian foil!
Thou fairest spot of fair Britannia's ifle!
Where kings of old, conceal'd, forgot the throne,
And beauty was content to shine unknown;

Where

Where love and war by turns pavilions rear,

And Henry's bowers near Blenheim's dome appear;
The weary'd champion lull in soft alcoves,
The nobleft boaft of thy romantic groves.
Oft, if the Mufe prefage, fhall he be seen
By Rofamonda fleeting o'er the green,
In dreams be hail'd hy heroes' mighty fhades,
And hear old Chaucer warble through the glades,
O'er the fam'd echoing vaults his name shall bound,
And hill to hill reflect the favourite found.

Here, here at least thy love for arms give o'er,
Nor, one world conquer'd, fondly with for more.
Vice of great fouls alone! O thirst of fame !
The Mufe admires it, while fhe ftrives to blame.
Thy toils be now to chace the bounding deer,
Or view the courfers ftretch in wild career.
This lovely scene shall footh thy foul to reft,
And wear each dreadful image from thy breaft..
With pleasure, by thy conquests shalt thou fee
Thy queen triumphant, and all Enrope free.
No cares henceforth fhall thy repose destroy,
But what thou giv'ft the world, thyself enjoy.

Sweet Solitude! when life's gay hours are past,
Howe'er we range, in thee we fix at last:
Toft through tempeftuous feas (the voyage o'er)
Pale we look back, and bless thy friendly fhore.
Our own ftrict judges our paft life we scan,
And ask if glory hath enlarg'd the span
If bright the profpect, we the grave defy,
Truft future ages, and contented die.

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