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How didst thou lift thy towery front on high!
Not meanly conscious of a mother's joy,
Proud of thy son as Crete was of her Jove,
How wert thou pleas’d heaven did thy choice approve,
And fixt success where thou hast fixt thy love !
How with regret his absence didst thou mourn !
How with impatience wait his wifht return!
How were the winds accus'd for his delay!
How didst thou chide the gods who rule the sea,
And charge the Nereid nymphs to waft him on his way!
At length he comes, he ceases from his toil,
Like kings of old returning from the spoil ;
To Britain and his queen for ever dear,
He comes, their joy and grateful thanks to share ;
Lowly he kneels before the royal seat,
And lays its proudest wreaths at Anna's feet.
While, form'd alike for labours or for ease,
In camps to thunder, or in courts to please, 315
Britain's bright nymphs make Marlborough their care,
In all his dangers, all his triumphs, fare.
Conquering he lends the well-pleas’d fair new grace,
And adds fresh lustre to each beauteous face ;
Britain preserv'd by his victorious arms,
With wondrous pleasure each fair bosom warms,
Lightens in all their eyes, and doubles all their charms
Ev'n his own Sunderland, in beauty's store
So rich she seem'd incapable of more,
Now shines with graces never known before;
Fierce with transporting joy the seems to burn,
And each soft feature takes a sprightly turn;
New flames are seen to fparkle in her eyes,
And on her blooming cheek fresh roses rise;
The pleasing paflion heightens each bright hue, 330
And seems to touch the finish'd piece anew,
Improves what nature's bounteous hand had given,
And mends the fairest workmanship of heaven.
Nor joy like this in courts is only found,
But spreads to all the grateful people round; 335
Laborious hinds inur'd to rural toil,
To tend the flocks and turn the mellow soil,
In homely guise their honest hearts express,
And blefs the warrior who protects the peace,
Who keeps the foe aloof and drives afar
34 The dreadful ravage of the wasting war. No rude destroyer cuts the ripening crop, Prevents the harvest, and deludes their hope ; No helpless wretches fly with wild amaze, Look weeping back, and see their dwellings blaze; 345 The victor's chain no mournful captives know, Nor hear the threats of the insulting foe, But Freedom laughs, the fruitful fields abound, The chearful voice of mirth is heard to sound, And Plenty doles her various bounties round, The humble village, and the wealthy town, Consenting join their happiness to own : What heaven and Anna's gentlest reign afford, All is fecur'd by Marlborough's conquering sword. O sacred, ever honour'd name ! O thou !
355 That wert our greatest William once below! What place foe'er thy virtues now possess Near the bright source of everlasting bliss,
Where-e'er exalted to etherial height,
Radiant with stars, thou tread'ft.the fields of light, 360
Thy feats divine, thy heaven a-while forfake,
And deign the Britons' triumph to partake.
Nor art thou chang'd, but still thou shalt delight
To hear the fortune of the glorious fight,
How fail'd oppression, and prevail'd the right.
What once below, such still thy pleasures are,
Europe and Liberty are still thy care ;
Thy great, thy generous, pure, immortal mind
Is ever to the public good inclind,
Is still the tyrant's foe, and patron of mankind.
Behold where Marlborough, thy last best gift,
At parting to thy native Belgia left,
Succeeds to all thy kind paternal cares,
Thy watchful counsels, and laborious wars ;
Like thee, aspires by virtue to renown,
Fights to secure an empire not his own,
Reaps only toil himself, and gives away á crown.
At length thy prayer, O pious prince ! is heard, 380
Heaven has at length in its own cause appear'd
At length Ramillia's field atones for all
The faithless breaches of the perjur'd Gaul;
At length a better age to man decreed,
With truth, with peace, and justice, thall succeed;
Fall'n are the proud, and the griev'd world is freed.
One triumph yet, my Muse, remains behind,
Another vengeance yet the Gaul shall find;
On Lombard plains, beyond his Alpine hills,
Louis the force of hostile Britain feels ;
Swift to her friends distress'd her succours fly,
And distant wars her wealthy sons supply:
From flow unactive courts, they grieve to hear
Eugene, a name to every Briton dear,
By tedious languishing delays is held
Repining, and impatient, from the field:
While factious statesmen riot in excess,
And lazy priests whole provinces poffefs,
Of unregarded wants the brave complain,
And the stary'd soldier sues for bread in vain;
At once with generous indignation-warın,
Britain the treasure sends, and bids the hero arm,
Straight eager to the field, he speeds away,
There vows the victor Gaul shall dear repay
The spoils of Calcinato's fatal day :
Chear’d by the presence of the chief they love,
Once more their fate the warriors long to prove;
Reviv'd each soldier lifts his drooping head,
Forgets his wounds, and calls him on to lead ;
Again their crests the German eagles rear, 410
Stretch their broad wings, and fan the Latian air;
Greedy for battle and the prey they call,
And point great Eugene's thunder on the Gaul.
The chief commands, and soon in dread array
Onwards the moving legions urge their
With hardy marches and successful haste,
O’er every barrier fortunate they pass’d,
Which nature or the skilful foe had plac'd.
The foe in vain with Gallic arts attends,
To mark which
Vainly in war's mysterious roles is wife,
Lurks where tall woods and thickest coverts rise,
And meanly hopes a conquest from furprize.
Now with swift horse the plain around them beats,
And oft advances, and as oft retreats ;
Now fix'd to wait the coming force, he seems,
Secur'd by steepy banks and rapid streams;
While river-gods in vain exhaust their store ;
From plenteous urns the gushing torrents pour,
Rise o'er their utmost margins to the plain, 430
And strive to stay the warrior's hafte in vain ;
Alike they pass the plain and closer wood,
Explore the ford, and tempt the swelling flood,
Unshaken still pursue the itedfast course,
And where they want their way, they find it or they force.
But anxious thoughts Savoy's great Prince infeft, And roll ill-boding in his careful breast; Oft he revolves the ruins of the great, And sadly thinks on loft Bavaria's fate, The hapless mark of fortune's cruel sport, An exile, meanly forc'd to beg support From the slow bounties of a foreign court. Forc'd from his lov'd Turin, his last retreat, His glory once and empire's ancient seat, He sees from far where wide destructions fpread, 445 And fiery showers the goodly town invade, Then turns to mourn in vain his ruin'd state, And curse the unrelenting tyrant's hate.
But great Eugene prevents his every fear, He had refolv'd it, and he would be there; 430