"High-favour'd man! for him unfolding fair

In orient light this native landscape fmiles; For him fweet Hope difarms the hand of care, Exalts his pleafures, and his grief beguiles. "Blows not a bloffom on the breaft of Spring, Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, Trills not a fongfter of the foaring wing,

But fragrance, health and melody fucceed. "O let me ftill with fimple Nature live,

My lowly field-flowers on her altar lay, Enjoy the bleffings that the meant to give,

And calmly wafte my ineffenfive day! "No titled name, no envy-teafing dome,

No glittering wealth my tutor'd wishes crave; So Health and Peace be near my humble home, A cool ftream murmur, and a green tree wave. "So may the fweet Euterpe not disdain

At Eve's chafte hour her filver lyre to bring; The mufe of pity wake her foothing ftrain,

And tune to fympathy the trembling string. "Thus glide the penfive moments, o'er the vale While floating fhades of dufky night defcend: Not left untold the lover's tender tale,

Nor unenjoy'd the heart-enlarging friend. "To love and friendship flow the social bowl! To attic wit and elegance of mind; To all the native beauties of the foul,

The fimple charms of truth, and fenfe refin'd! "Then to explore whatever ancient fage

Studious from nature's early volume drew, To trace fweet Fiction through her golden age, And mark how fair the fun-flower, Science, blew!

"When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's head, Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous ray; Carelessly wander from my fylvan fhed,

And catch the fweet breath of the rifing day. "Nor feldom, loit'ring as I mufe along,

Mark from what flower the breeze its fweetnefs bore ;

Or liften to the labour-foothing fong

Of bees that range the thymy uplands o'er. "Slow let me climb the mountain's airy brow, The green height gain'd, in mufeful rapture lie, Sleep to the murmur of the woods below,

Or look on Nature with a lover's cye. "Delightful hours! O, thus for ever flow;

Led by fair Fancy round the varied year: So fhall iny breaft with native raptures glow,

Nor feel one pang from folly, pride, or fear. "Firm be my heart to Nature and to Truth,

Nor vainly wander from their dictates sage; So Joy fhall triumph on the brows of youth, So Hope fhall fmooth the dreary paths of age."

1

ELEGY

IV.

OH! yet, ye dear, deluding visions, stay!
Fond hopes, of Innocence and Fancy born!
For you
I'll caft thefe waking thoughts away,
For one wild dream of life's romantic morn.
Ah! no the funfhine o'er cach object spread

By flattering Hope, the flowers that blew fo fair; Like the gay gardens of Armida fled,

And vanished from the powerful rod of Care. So the poor pilgrim, who in rapturous thought Plans his dear journey to Loretto's shrine, Seems on his way by guardian feraphs brought Sees aiding angels favour his defign. Ambrofial blossoms, such of old as blew

By those fresh fonts on Eden's happy plain, And Sharon's rofes all his paffage ftrew:

So Fancy dreams; but Fancy's dreams are vain. Wafted and weary on the mountain's fide,

His way unknown, the haplets pilgrim lies, Or takes fome ruthlefs robber for his guide,

And prone beneath his cruel fabre dies.
Life's morning-landscape gilt with orient light,
Where Hope and Joy and Fancy hold their
reign,

The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling
bright,
[wain:
The blythe hours dancing round Hyperion's
In radiant colours Youth's free hand pourtrays,
Then holds the flattering tablet to his cye ;
Nor thinks how foon the vernal grove decays,
Nor fees the dark cloud gathering o'er the fky;
Hence Fancy conquer'd by the dart of Pain,

And wandering far from her Platonic shade; Mourns o'er the ruins of her transient reign,

Nor unrepining fees her vifions fade.
Their parent banish'd, hence her children fly,

The fairy race that fill'd her feftive train: Joy tcars his wreath, and Hope inverts her eye, And Folly wonders that her dream was vain.

§ 39. A Letter from Italy to the Right Honou able Charles Lord Halifax. In the year 1701. ADDISON.

WHILE you, my Lord, the rural fhades admire,
And froin Britannia's public pofts retire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please,
For their advantage facrifice your eafe;
Me into foreign realins my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the foft feafon and inviting cline
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the foft feafon and inviting clime
Confpire to trouble your repofe with rhyme.

For wherefoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes,
Gay gilded fcenes and fhining profpects rife ;
Poetic fields encompass me around,
And ftill I feem to tread on claffic ground;
For here the Muse so oft her harp has ftrung,
That not a mountain rears its head unfung;
Renown'd

Our British youth, with in-born freedom bold,
Unnumber'd scenes of fervitude behold,
Nations of flaves, with tyranny debas'd,
(Their Maker's image more than half defac'd)
Hourly inftructed, as they urge their toil,
To prize their queen, and love their native foil.

Still to the rifing fun they take their way
Thro' clouds of duft, and gain upon the day.
When now the Neckar on its friendly coaft
With cooling ftreams revives the fainting host,
That cheerfully his labours paft forgets,
The midnight watches, and the noon-day heats.

O'er proftrate towns and palaces they pafs (Now cover'd o'er with woods, and hid in grafs) Breathing revenge; whilft anger and difdain Fire ev'ry breaft, and boil in ev'ry vein. Here fhatter'd walls, like broken rocks, from far Rife up in hideous view, the guilt of war; Whilft here the vine o'er hills of ruins climbs, Induftrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes.

At length the fame of England's hero drew Eugenio to the glorious interview. Great fouls by instinct to each other turn, Demand alliance, and in friendship burn; A fudden friendship, while with ftretch'd-out rays They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze. Polish'd in courts, and harden'd in the field, Renown'd for conquest, and in council skill'd, Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood Of mounting fpirits, and fermenting blood; Lodg'd in the foul, with virtue over-rul'd, Inflam'd by reafon, and by reafon cool'd, In hours of peace content to be unknown, And only in the field of battle fhewn : To fouls like thefe, in mutual friendship join'd, Heaven dares entrust the cause of human-kind.

Britannia's grateful fons appear in arms, Her harafs'd troops the hero's prefence warms; Whilft the high hills and rivers all around With thund'ring peals of British fhouts refound: Doubling their Ipeed, they march with fresh delight,

Eager for glory, and require the fight.
So the ftaunch hound the trembling deer purfues,
And fmells his footsteps in the tainted dews,
The tedious track unrav'iling by degrees:
But when the fcent comes warm in ev'ry breeze,
Fir'd at the near approach, he shoots away
On his full stretch, and bears upon his prey.

The march concludes, the various realms are
Th'immortal Schellenberg appears at laft: [paft;
Like hills th' afpiring ramparts rife on high,
Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie;
Batt'ries on batt'ries guard each fatal pafs,
Threat'ning deftruction; rows of hollow brafs,
Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep,
Whilft in their wombs ten thoufand thunders
fleep.
[fight,
Great Churchill owns, charm'd with the glorious
His march o'erpaid by fuch a promis'd fight.
The western fun now thot a feeble ray,
And faintly scatter'd the remains of day:
Ev'ning approach'd; but oh what hofts of foes
Were never to behold that cv'ning clofe!

Thick'ning their ranks, and wedg'd in firm array
The clofe compacted Britons win their way;
In vain the cannon their throng'd war defac'd
With tracks of death, and laid the battle wafte
Still preffing forward to the fight, they broke
Thro' flames of fulphur and a night of smoke,
Till flaughter'd legions fill'd the trench below,
And bore their fierce avengers to the foe.

High on the works the mingling hofts engage
The battle, kindled into ten-fold rage,
With fhow'rs of bullets, and with ftorms of fire,
Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire;
Nations with nations mix'd confus'dly die,
And loft in one promifcuous carnage lie.

How many gen'rous Britons meet their doom, New to the field, and heroes in their bloom! Th' illuftrious youths, that left their native thore To march where Britons never march'd befo.e (Oh fatal love of fame! oh glorious heat, Only deftructive to the brave and great!) After fuch toils o'ercome, fuch dangers paft, Stretch'd on Bavarian ramparts, breathe their laft. But hold, my Mufe, may no complaints appear, Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear: While Marlb'rough lives, Britannia's ftars difpenfe A friendly light, and thine in innocence: Plunging through feas of blood his fiery steed Where'er his friends retire, or foes fucceed; Thofe he fupports, thele drives to fidden flight," And turns the various fortune of the fight.

Forbear, great man, renowned in arms, fubear To brave the thickeft terrors of the war; Nor hazard thus, confus'd in crowds of foes, Britannia's fafety, and the world's repofe; Lct nations anxious for thy life abate This fcorn of danger, and contempt of fate: Thou liv'ft not for thyfelf; thy Queen demands Conqueft and peace from thy victorious hands; Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join, And Europe's deffiny depends on thine.

At length the long-difputea pafs they gain, By crowded arinics fortified in vain; . The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield, And fee their camp with British legions fill'd. So Belgian mounds bear on their fhatter'd fides The fea's whole weight, increas'd with fwelling But if the rufhing wave a paffage finds, [tides; Enrag'd by wat'ry moons, and warring winds, The trembling peafant fees his country round Cover'd with tempefts, and in oceans drown'd.

The victor finds each hidden cavern for'd,
And turns their fury on their guilty lord.

Deluded prince! how is thy greatnefs crofs'd,
And all the gaudy dream of empire loft,
That proudly fet thee on a fancied throne,
And made imaginary realms thy own!
Thy troops, that now behind the Danube join,
Shall fhortly feck for fhelter from the Rhine,
Nor find it there! Surrounded with alarms,
Thou hop'ft th' afliftance of the Gallic arms;
The Gallic arms in fafety fhall advance,
And crowd thy standards with the pow'r of France;
While, to exalt thy doom, th' afpiring Gaul
Shares thy deftruction, and adorns thy fall.

Unbounded courage and compaffion join'd, Temp'ring each other in the victor's mind, Alternately proclaim him good and great, And make the Hero and the Man complete. Long did he strive th' obdurate foe to gain By proffer'd grace, but long he ftrove in vain; Till, fir'd at length, he thinks it vain to fpare His rifing wrath, and gives a loofe to war. In vengeance rous'd, the foldier fills his hand With fword and fire, and ravages the land; A thoufand villages to afhes turns, In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns. To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat, And mix'd with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat; Their trembling lords the common fhade partake, And cries of infants found in ev'ry brake: The lift'ning foldier fix'd in forrow stands, Loth to obey his leader's juft commands; The leader grieves, by gen'rous pity fway'd, To fee his juft commands fo well obey'd.

Though fens and floods poffefs the middle space, That unprovok'd they would have fear'd to pafs; Nor fens nor floods can ftop Britannia's bands, When her proud foe rang'd on their bordersstands.

But oh, my Mufe, what numbers wilt thou find To fing the furious troops in battle join'd! Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous found The victors' fhouts and dying groans confound, The dreadful burft of cannon rend the fkies, And all the thunder of the battle rife. [prov'd, 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty foul w.s That, in the fhock of charging hofts unmov'd, Amidft confufion, horror, and defpair, Examin'd all the dreadful feenes of war: In peaceful thought the field of death furvey'd, To fainting fquadrons fent the timely aid, Infpir'd repuls'd battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. So when an angel by divine command With rifing tempcfts fhakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia pafs'd, Calm and ferene he drives the furious blaft; And, pleas'd th' Almighty's orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the ftorm.

Behold in awful march and dread array The long extended fquadrons shape their way! Death, in approaching terrible, imparts An anxious horror to the braveft hearts; Yet do their beating breasts demand the ftrife, And thirst of glory quells the love of life. No vulgar fears can British minds controul: Heat of revenge and noble pride of foul Orlook the foe, advantag'd by his poft, Luffen his numbers, and contract his hoft;

But fee the haughty houfchold-troops advance! The dread of Europe, and the pride of France. The war's whole art each private foldier knows, And with a general's love of conqueft glows; Proudly he marches on, and void of fear Laughs at the fhaking of the British spear: Vain infolence! with native freedom brave, The meaneft Briton fcorns the highest flave; Contempt and fury fire their fouls by turns, Each nation's glory in each warrior burns; Each fights, as in his arm th' important day And all the fate of his great monarch lay : A thoufand glorious actions, that might claim Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame, Confus'd in crowds of glorious actions lie, And troops of heroes undistinguish'd die. O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate, And not the wonders of thy youth relate! How can I fee the gay, the brave, the young, Fall in the cloud of war. and lie unfung! In joys of conqueft he refigns his breath, And, fill'd with England's glory, fmiles in death. The rout begins, the Gallic fquadrons run, Compell'd in crowds to meet the fate they fhun; Thoulards of fiery fteeds with wounds transfix'd, Floating in gore, with their dead mafters mix'd, 'Midft heaps of fpears and ftandards driven around, Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drown'd. Troops of bold youths, born on the diftant Soane, Or founding borders of the rapid Rhone, Or where the Scine her flow'ry fields divides, Or where the Loire thro' winding vineyards glides, In heaps the rolling billows fweep away, And into Scythian feas their bloated corps convey. From Blenheim's tow'rs the Gaul, with wild Beholds the various havoc of the fight; [affright, His waving banners, that fo oft had food Planted in fields of death and ftreams of blood, So wont the guarded enemy to reach, And rife triumphant in the fatal breach,

Or