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The public wealth to foreign parts convey'd;
Some troops difbanded, and the rest unpaid.
Rhodes is the fov'rcign of the fea no more;
Their fhips unrigg'd, and spent their naval ftore;
They neither could defend, nor can purfue,
But grinn'd their teeth, and caft a helpless view:
In vain with darts a diftant war they try,
Short and more fhort, the millive weapons fly.
Meanwhile the ravifhers their crimes enjoy,
And flying fails and fweeping oars employ:
The cliffs of Rhodes in little space are loft;
Jove's ifle they feek; nor Jove denies his coaft.
In fafety landed on the Candian shore,
With gen'rous wines their fpirits they restore:
There Cymon with his Rhodian friend refides,
Both court and wed at once the willing brides.
A war enfues; the Cretans own their caufe,
Stiff to defend their hofpitable laws;
Both parties lofe by turns; and neither wins,
Till peace propounded by a truce begins.
The kindred of the flain forgive the deed,
But a fhort exile muft for fhow precede;
The term expir'd, from Candia they remove,
And happy each, at home, enjoys his love.

Yet run for ever by the Mufe's skill,
And in the finooth defcription murmur ftill.

Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam'd river's empty fhore admire,
That, deftitute of ftrength, derives its courfe
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful fource;
Yet fung fo often in poetic lays,
With fcorn the Danube and the Nile furveys;
So high the deathlefs muse exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious ftream,
That in Hibernian vales obfcurely ftray'd,
And, unobferv'd, in wild meanders play'd;
Till, by your lines and Naffau's fword renown'd,
Its rifing billows thro' the world refound;
Where'er the Hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verfe.

Oh could the Mufe my ravish'd breast inspire With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire, Unnumber'd beauties in my verfe fhall thine, And Virgil's Italy fhould yield to mine! See how the golden groves around me fimile, That fhun the coaft of Britain's ftormy ifle, Or, when tranfplanted and preferv'd with care, Curfe the cold clime, and ftarve in northern air. Here kindly warmth their mounting juice fer

ments

32. A Letter from Italy to the Right Honour-To nobler taftes and more exalted scents; able Charles Lord Halifax. In the Year 1701.

ADDISON.

WHILE you,my Lord, the rural fuades admire,

And from Britannia's public pofts retire, Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please, For their advantage facrifice your ease; Me into foreign realms my fate conveys, Thro' nations fruitful of immortal lavs, 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 scenes and thining profpects rife,
Poetic fields encompass me around,

And ftill I feem to tread on claffic ground;
For here the Mufe fo oft her harp has ftrung,
That not a mountain rears its head unfung;
Renown'd in verfe each fhady thicket grows,
And ev'ry stream in heav'nly numbers flows.
How am I pleas'd to fearch the hills and woods
For rifing fprings and celebrated floods!
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the fmooth Clitumnus to his fource!
To fee the Mincio draw his wat'ry store
Thro' the long windings of a fruitful shore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O'er the warm bed of finoking fulphur glide!
Fir'd with a thousand raptures I furvey
Eridanus thro' flow'ry meadows ftray,
The king of floods! that rolling o'er the plains,
The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains,
And proudly foln with a whole winter's fnows,
Diftributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
Sometimes, mifguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for ftreams immortaliz'd in song,
That loft in flence and oblivion lie
[dry)
(Dumb are their fountains, and their channels

E'en the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom,
And trodden weeds fend out a rich perfume.
Bear me, fome god, to Baia's gentle feats,

Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
Where western gales eternally refide,
And all the feafons lavish all their pride;
Bloffoms, and fruits, and flow'rs together rife;
And the whole year in gay confufion lies.

Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my foul a thoufand paffions ftrive,
When Rome's exalted beauties I defcry,
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.
An amphitheatre's amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public thews unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb;
Here pillars rough with fculpture pierce the skies;
And here the proud triumphal arches rife,
Where the old Romans deathlefs acts difplay'd,
Their bafe degen'rate progeny upbraid;
Whole rivers here forfake the fields below,
And, wond'ring at their height, through airy
channels flow.

Still to new fcenes my wand'ring Mufe retires; And the dumb fhow of breathing rocks admires; Where the fmooth chifel all its force has fhown, And foften'd into flesh the rugged stone. In folemn filence, a majestic band, Heroes, and gods, and Roman confuls, ftand; Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown, And emperors, in Parian marble frown; [fu'd, While the bright dames to whom they humbly Still fhew the charms that their proud hearts fubdu'd.

Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And fhow th'immortal labours in my verfe, [light, Where, from the mingled strength of fhade and

A new

A new creation rifes to my fight,

Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow,
From theme to theme with fecret pleasure tofty
Am.dft the foft variety I'm loft;

Here pleafing airs my ravish'd foul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of found;
Here domes and temples rife in diftant views,
And op'ning palaces invite my Mufe.

How has kind Heav'n adorn'd the happy land, And fcatter'd bledings with a wasteful hand! But what avail her unexhaufted stores,

Her blooming mountains, and her funny shores,
With all the gifts that Heav'n and earth impart,
The fimiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud Oppreflion in her vallies reigns,
And Tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain

The redd'ning orange and the fwelling grain;
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and vines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines;
Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curft,
And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.

Oh Liberty! thou goddess heav'nly bright,
Profufe of blifs, and pregnant with delight!
Eternal pleafures in thy prefence reign,
And fimiling Plenty leads thy wanton train;
Eas'd of her load, Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks cheerful in thy fight;
Thou mak'ft the gloomy face of Nature gay,
Giv't beauty to the Sun, and pleasure to the Day.
Thee, goddefs, thee Britannia's ifle adores;
How has the oft exhaufted all her stores,
How oft, in fields of death, thy prefence fought,
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
On foreign mountains may the fun refine
The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With citron groves adorn a diftant foil,
And the fat olive fwell with floods of oil;
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
Nor at the coarfeuefs of our haven repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's ifle,
And makes her barren rocks' and her bleak
mountains fimile.

[fight,
Others with tow'ring piles may pleafe the
And in their proud afpiring domes delight;
A nicer touch to the ftretch'd canvafs give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live;
'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
Aud hold in balance each contending state;
To threaten bold prefumptuous kings with war,
And anfwer her afflicted neighbour's pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarins,
Blets the wife conduct of her pious arms;
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hufh'd in peace.
Th'ambitious Gaul ocholds, with fecret dread,
Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,
And fain her godlike fons would difunite
Py foreign gold, or by domeftic fpite;
Bar frives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Nalau's arms defend, and counfels guide.

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proclaim,

Proud in their number to enrol your name;
While emperors to you commit their cause,
And Anna's praises crown the vast applaufe;
Accept, great leader, what the Mufe recites,
That in ambitious verfe attempts your fights.
Fir'd and tranfported with a theme fo new,
Ten thousand wonders op'ning to my view
Shine forth at once; fieges and storms appear,
And wars and conquefts fill th'important year;
Rivers of blood I fee, and hills of flain,
An Iliad rifing out of one campaign.

The haughty Gaul beheld, with tow'ring pride,
His ancient bounds enlarg'd on ev'ry fide;
Pyrene's lofty barriers were subdu'd,
And in the midft of his wide empire stood;
Aufonia's ftates, the victor to restrain,
Oppos'd their Alps and Apennines in vain,
Nor found themfelves, with ftrength of rocks im-
Behind their everlafting hills fecur'd; [mur'd,
The rifing Danube its long race began,
And half its courfe thro' the new conquefts ran
Amaz'd, and anxious for her fov'reign's fates,
Germania trembled thro' a hundred states;
Great Leopold himself was seiz'd with fear;
He gaz'd around, but faw no fuccour near;
He gaz'd, and half-abandon'd to defpair
His hopes on Heav'n, and confidence in pray'r.
To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes;
On her refolves the western world relies,
Confiding ftill, amidst its dire alarms,
In Anna's councils, and in Churchill's arms.

Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent,
To fit the guardian of the continent !
That fees her bravest son advanc'd so high,
And flourishing fo near her prince's eye;
Thy fav'rites grow not up by fortune's sport,
Or from the crimes or follies of a court;
On the firm bafis of defert they rife,
From long-try'd faith, and friendship's holy tyes:
Their fov'reign's well-diftinguifh'd finiles they
fhare;

Her ornaments in peace, her ftrength in war;
The nation thanks them with a public voice;
By fhow'rs of bleflings Heav'n approves their
Envy itfelf is dumb, in wonder loft, [choice;
And factions ftrive who fhall applaud them moft.
Soon as foft vernal breezes warm the sky,
Britannia's colours in the zephyrs fly;
Her chief already has his march begun,
Croffing the provinces himself had won,
Till the Mofelle, appearing from afar,
Retards the progrefs of the moving war.
Delightful ftream, had nature bid her fall
In diftant climes, far from the perjur'd Gaul;
But now a purchase to the fword the lies,
Her harvefts for uncertain owners rise,
Each vineyard doubtful of its mafter grows,
And to the victor's bowl each vintage flows.
The difcontented fhades of flaughter'd hofts
That wander'd on her banks, her heroes ghofts,
Hop'd, when they faw Britannia's arms appear,
The vengeance due to their great death was near.
Our godlike leader, ere the ftream he past,
The mighty scheme of all his labours caft.
Forming the wondrous year within his thought;
His bofom glow'd with battles yet unfought.
The long laborious march he first surveys,
And joins the diftant Danube to the Maefe;
Between whofe floods fuch pathlefs forefts grow,
Such mountains rife, fo many rivers flow,
The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes,
And danger ferves but to enhance the prize.

Big with the fate of Europe, he renews
His dreadful courfe, and the proud foe purfues!
Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat,
The fultry gales round his chaf'd temples beat,
Till on the borders of the Maine he finds
Defenfive fhadows, and refreshing winds.
Our British youth, with in-born freedom bold,
Unnumber'd fcenes 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 past forgets,
The midnight watches, and the noonday 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 thatter'd walls, like broken rocks, from far
Rife up in hideous views, the guilt of war,

Whilft here the vine o'er hills of ruins climbs, Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes.

At length the fame of England's hero drew Eugenio to the glorious interview, Great fouls by inftinct to each other turn, Demand alliance, and in friendship burn; A fudden friendship, while with ftretcht-out rays They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze. Polifh'd in courts, and harden'd in the field, Renown'd for conqueft, and in council skill'd, Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood Of melting fpirits, and fermenting blood; Lodg'd in the foul, with virtue over-rul'd, Inflam'd by reason, 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, Heav'n dares intruft the caufe of humankind.

Britannia's graceful fons appear in arms, Her harrafs'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 speed, they march with fresh delight,

Eager for glory, and require the fight.

So the ftaunch hound the trembling deer purfues,
And finells his footsteps in the tainted dews,
The tedious track unrav❜ling 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

paft;

Th'immortal Schellenberg appears at laft :
Like hills th'afpiring ramparts rife on high;
Like vallies at their feet the trenches lie;
Batt'ries on batt'ries guard each fatal pafs,
Threat'ning deftruction; rows of hollow brass,
Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep,
Whilft in theirwombs ten thousand thunders fleep.
Great Churchill owns, charm'd with the glorious
fight,

His march o'erpaid by fuch a promis'd fight.
The western fun now fhot a feeble ray,
And faintly scatter'd the remains of day:
Ev'ning approach'd; but oh! what host of foes
Were ever to behold that ev'ning close !
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 hosts engage;
The battle kindled into tenfold 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 promisc'ous 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 fhore To march where Britons never march'd before (O fatal

(O fatal love of fame! O glorious heat,
Only destructive 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'roughlives, Britannia's ftars difpenfe
A friendly light, and fhine in innocence:
Plunging thro' feas of blood his fiery steed
Where'er his friends retire, or foes fucceed;
Those he fupports, thefe drives to fudden flight,
And turns the various fortune of the fight.
Forbear, great man, renown'd in arms, forbear
To brave the thickest terrors of the war,
Nor hazard thus, confus'd in crowds of foes,
Britannia's fafety, and the world's repose;
Let 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 deftiny depends on thine.

At length the long-difputed pafs they gain,
By crowded armies fortify'd 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 rushing wave a paffage finds, [tides;
Enrag'd by wat'ry moons, and warring winds,
The trembling peasant fees his country round
Cover'd with tempefts, and in oceans drown'd.
The few furviving foes difperfe in flight
(Refufe of fwords, and gleanings of a fight)
In ev'ry rustling wind the victor hear,
And Marlb'rough's form in ev'ry shadow fear,
Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace
Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace.
To Donavert, with unrefifted force,
The gay victorious army bends its courfe.
The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields,
Whatever fpoils Bavaria's fummer yields
(The Danube's great increase) Britannia fhares
The food of armies and fupport of wars:
With magazines of death, deftructive balls,
And cannon dooin'd to batter Landau's walls,
The victor finds each hidden cavern stor'd,
And turns their fury on their guilty lord.

Deluded Prince! how is thy greatnefs croft,
And all the gaudy dream of empire loft,
That proudly fet thee on a fancy'd throne,
And made imaginary realms thy own!
Thy troops, that now behind the Danube join,
Shall fhortly feek for fhelter from the Rhine,
Nor find it there! furrounded with alarms,
Thou hop'ft th'affiftance of the Gallic arms;
The gallic arms in fafety shall advance,
And crowd thyftandards 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 spare
His rifmg wrath, and gives a loose 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 fixt in forrow stands,
Loth to obey his leader's just commands;
The leader grieves, by gen'rous pity fway'd,
To fee his just commands fo well obey'd.

But now the trumpet, terrible from far,
In fhriller clangors animates the war;
Confed'rate drums in fuller concert beat,
And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat:
Gallia's proud ftandards to Bavaria's join'd,
Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind;

The daring prince his blafted hopes renews,
And, while the thick embattled hoft he views,
Stretcht out in deep array, and dreadful length,
His heart dilates, and glories in his strength.

The fatal day its mighty courfe began,
That the griev'd world had long defir'd in vain,
States that their new captivity bemoan'd,
Armies of martyrs that in exile groan'd,
Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard,
And pray'rs in bitterness of foul preferr'd,
Europe's loud cries, that Providence affail'd,
And Anna's ardent vows at length prevail'd;
The day was come when Heav'n defign'd to show
His care and conduct of the world below.

Behold in awful march and dread array
The long extended fquadrons fhape their way f
Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
An anxious horror to the braveft hearts;
Yet do their beating breafts demand the ftrife,
And thirft of glory quells the love of life.
No vulgar fears can British minds control:
Heat of revenge and noble pride of foul
O'erlook the foe, advantag'd by his poft,
Leffen his numbers, and contract his hoft;
Tho' 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 for rang'd on their borders
ftands.

[find

But O, my Mufe, what numbers wilt thou
To fing the furious troops in battle join'd!
Methinks I hear the drums tumultuous found
The victors fhouts and dying groans confound;
The dreadful burft of cannon rend the skies,
And all the thunder of the battle rife.
'Twas then great Marlb'rough's mighty foul
was prov'd,

That, in the fhock of charging hots unmov'd,
Amidft confufion, horror, and despair,
Examin'd all the dreadful scenes of war:
In peaceful thought the field of death furvey'd,
To fainting fquadrons fent the timely aid,

In!pir'd

14

Infpir'd repuls'd battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So when an angel by divine command
With rifing tempefts shakes a guilty land,
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia paft,
Calm and ferene he drives the furious blaft;
And, pleas'd th'Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
But fee the haughty houthold-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 meancft 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 undiftinguish'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, fimiles in death!
The rout begins, the Gallic fquadrons run,
Compell'd in crowds to meet the fate they fhun;
Thousands of fiery fteeds with wounds transfixt,
Floating in gore, with their dead mafters mixt,
Midft heaps of fpears and standards 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 Seine her flow'ry fields divides,
Or where the Loire through 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 af-
Beholds the various havock of the fight; [fright,
His waving banners, that so oft had stood
Planted in fields of death and streams of blood,
So wont the guarded enemy to reach,
And rife triumphant in the fatal breach,
Or pierce the broken foe's remoteft lines,
The hardy veteran with tears refigns.

Unfortunate Tallard! Oh, who can name
The pangs of rage, of forrow, and of shame,
That with mixt tumult in thy bofom fwell'd,
When first thou faw'it thy bravest troops repell'd,
Thine only fon pierc'd with a deadly wound,
Choak'd in his blood, and gasping on the
ground,

Thyfelf in bondage by the victor kept!
The chief, the father, and the captive wept.
An English Mufe is touch'd with gen'rous woe,
And in th'unhappy man forgets the foe!
Greatly diftreft! thy loud complaints forbear;
Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war;

Give thy brave foes their due; nor blush to own
The fatal field by such great leaders won;
The field whence fai'd Eugenio bore away
Only the fecond honours of the day.

With floods of gore that from the vanquish'd fell
The marshes ftagnate, and the rivers fwell.
Mountains of flain lie heap'd upon the ground,
Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drown'd;
Whole captive hofts the conqueror detains
In painful bondage, and inglorious chains;
Ev'n those who 'Icape the fetters and the fword,
Nor feek the fortunes of a happier lord,
Their raging King dishonours, to complete
Marlb'rough's great work, and finish the defeat.
From Memminghen's high domes, and Aug-
fburg's walls,

The diftant battle drives th'infulting Gauls:
Freed by the terror of the victor's name,
The refcu'd States his great protection claim;
Whilft Ulme th'approach of her deliv'rer waits,
And longs to open her obsequious gates.

The hero's breaft still swells with great designs,
In ev'ry thought the tow'ring genius fhines:
If to the foe his dreadful course he bends,
O'er the wide continent his march extends;
If fieges in his labouring thoughts are form'd,
Camps are affaulted, and an army storm'd;
If to the fight his active foul is bent,
The fate of Europe turns on its event.
What diftant land, what region can afford
An action worthy his victorious fword?
Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat,
And make the feries of his toils complete?

Where the fwoln Rhine rushing with all its force
Divides the hoftile nations in its course,
While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows,
Enlarg'd or ftraiten'd as the river flows,
On Gallia's fide a mighty bulwark stands,
That all the wide-extended plain commands;
Twice, fince the war was kindled, has it try'd
The victor's rage, and twice has chang'd its fide;
As oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoy'd,,
Have the long fummer on its walls employ'd.
Hither our mighty chief his arms directs;
Hence future triumphs from the war expects;
And, tho' the dog-ftar had its course begun,
Carries his arms ftill nearer to the fun:
Fixt on the glorious action, he forgets
The change of feafons and increase of heats;
No toils are painful that can danger show,
No climes unlovely that contain a foe.

The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrain'd,
Learns to incamp within his native land,
But foon as the victorious hoft he fpics,
From hill to hill, from ftream to ftream he flies:
Such dire impreffions in his heart remain
Of Marlborough's fword, and Hochstet's fatal
In vain Britannia's mighty chief befets [plain:
Their fhady coverts and obfcure retreats;
They fly the conqueror's approaching fame,
That bears the force of armies in his name.

Auftria's young monarch, whofe imperial sway
Sceptres and thrones are deftin'd to obey ;..
Whose boafted ancestry fo high extends,
That in the pagan gods his lineage ends,

Comea

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