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When strangers from far distant climes shall come, To view the pomp of this triumphant dome, Where rear'd aloft dissembled trophies stand, And breathing labours of the sculptor's hand, Where Kneller's art Mall paint the flying Gaul, And Bourbon's woes shall fill the story'd wall ; Heirs of thy blood shall o'er their bounteous board Fix Europe's guard, thy monumental sword, Banners that oft have way'd on conquer'd walls, And trumps, that drown'd the groans of gasping Gauls. Fair dames shall oft, with curious eye, explore The costly robes that laughter'd generals' wore, Rich trappings from the Danube's whirlpools brought, (Hesperian nuns the gorgeous broidery wrought) Belts stiff with gold, the Boian horse-man's pride, And Gaul's fair flowers, in human crimfon dy'd. Of Churchill's race perhaps some lovely boy Shall mark the burnish'd steel that hangs on high, Shall gaze transported on its glittering charms, And reach it struggling with unequal arms, By figns the drum's tumultuous sound request, Then seek, in starts, the hushing mother's breast.
So, in the painter's animated frame, Where Mars embraces the soft Paphian dame, The little Loves in sport his fauchion wield, Or join their strength to heave his ponderous shield : One strokes the plume in Tityon's gore embrued, And one the spear, that reeks with Typhon's blood : Another's infant brows the helm sustain, He nods his crest, and frights the shrieking train.
Thus, the rude tempest of the field o'er-blown, Shall whiter rounds of smiling years roll on, Our victors, blest in peace, forget their wars, Enjoy past dangers, and absolve the stars. But, oh! what sorrows shall bedew your urns, Ye honour'd shades, whom widow'd Albion mourns ! If your
thin forms yet discontented moan, And haunt the mangled mansions, once your own ; Behold what flowers the pious Muses ltrow,
And tears, which in the midst of triumph flow; i Cypress and bays your envy'd brows surround,
And the soft maid grow pensive at the found.
Accept, great Anne, the tears their memory draws,
Who nobly perish'd in their sovereign's cause :
For thou in pity bid'st the war give o'er,
Mourn'st thy slain heroes, nor wilt venture more,
Vast price of blood on each victorious day!
(But Europe's freedom doth that price repay.)
Lamented triumphs! when one breath must tell
That Marlborough conquer’d, and that Dormer fell.
Great Queen! whose name strikes haughty monarchs
On whose just sceptre hangs Europa's scale,
Whose arm like mercy wounds, decides like fate,
On whose decree the nations anxious wait :
From Albion's cliffs thy wide-extended hand
Shall o'er the main to far Peru command ;
So valt a tract whose wide domain shall run,
Its circling skies thall see no setting sun.
Thee, thee an hundred languages shall claim,
And savage Indians swear by Anna's name ;
The line and poles thall own thy rightful fway,
And thy commands the sever'd globe obey.
Round the vast ball thy new dominions chain
The watery kingdoms, and control the main ;
Magellan's straits to Gibraltar they join,
Across the seas a formidable line;
The sight of adverse Gaul we fear no more,
But pleas'd see Dunkirk, now a guiltless shore;
In vain great Neptune tore the narrow ground,
And meant his waters for Britannia's bound;
Her giant genius takes a mighty ftride,
And lets his foot beyond th' incroaching tide ;
On either bank the land its master knows,
And in the midst the subject ocean flows.
So near proud Rhodes, acrofs the ragirig flood,
Stupendous form! the vast Colossus stood,
(While at one foot their thronging gallies ride,
A whole hour's fail scarce reach'd the further side)
Betwixt his brazen thighs, in loose array,
Ten thousand streamers on the billows play.
By Harley's counfels Dunkirk now restor’d To Britain's empire, owns her ancient lord. In him transfus’d his godlike father reigns, Rich in the blood which swell'd that patriot's veins, Who boldly faithful met his sovereign's frown, And scorn'd for gold to yield th' important town. His son was born the ravilh'd prey to claim, And France still trembles at an Harley's name.
A fort so dreadful to our English shore,
Our fleets scarce fear'd the sands or tempests more,
Whose vast expences to such sums amount,
That the tax'd Gaul scarce furnish'd out th' account,
Whose walls such bulwarks, such vast towers restrain,
Its weakest ramparts are the rocks and main,
His boast great Louis yields, and cheaply buys
Thy friendship, Anna, with the mighty prize.
Holland repining, and in grief cast down,
Sees the new glories of the British crown:
Ah! may they ne'er provoke thee to the fight,
Nor foes, more dreadful than the Gaul, invite.
Soon may they hold the olive, foon aslwage
Their secret murmurs, nor call forth thy rage
To rend their banks, and pour, at one command,
Thy realm, the sea, o'er their precarious land.
Henceforth be thine, vice-gerent of the skies,
Scorn'd worth to raise, and vice in robes chastise,
To dry the orphan's tears, and from the bar
Chace the brib’d judge, and hush the wordy war,
Deny the curst blafphemer's tongue to rage,
And turn God's fury from an impious age.
Blest change the soldier's late destroying hand
Shall rear new temples in his native land;
Mistaken zealots shall with fear behold,
And beg admittance in our sacred fold;
On her own works the pious queen shall smile,
And turn her cares upon her favourite ille.
So the keen bolt a warrior angel aims,
Array'd in clouds, and wrapt in mantling flames ;
He bears a tempest on his founding wings,
And his red arm the forky vengeance flings;
At length, heaven's wrath appeas'd, he quits the war,
To roll his orb, and guide his destin'd star,
To thed kind fate, and lucky hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the world below.
Around thy throne shall faithful nobles wait,
These guard the church, and those direct the state.
To Bristol, graceful in maternal tears,
The church her towery forehead gently rears;
She begs her pious fon t'assert her cause,
Defend her rights, and reinforce her laws,
With holy zeal the sacred work begin,
To bend the stubborn, and the meek to win.
Our Oxford's earl in careful thought shall stand,
To raise his queen, and save a sinking land.
The wealthiest glebe to ravenous Spaniards known
He marks, and makes the golden world our own,
Content with hands unfoil'd to guard the prize,
And keep the store with undefiring eyes.
So round the tree, that bore Hesperian gold,
The sacred watch lay curl'd in many a fold,
His eyes up-rearing to th' untafted prey,
The sleepless guardian wasted life away.
Beneath the peaceful olives, rais’d by you,
Her ancient pride shall every art renew,
(The arts with you fam'd Harcourt shall defend,
And courtly Bolingbroke the Muse's friend.)
With piercing eye some search where nature plays,
And trace the wanton through her darksome maze,