330

The happy husband of a matchless dame,
Endear'd by virtues, and unblemish'd fa...e:
No guilty paflion ever claim'd a part,
The comfort of his bed engrofs'd his heart.
As two fair tapers burn with equal flame,
Their heat proportion'd, and their light the fame :
And though by flow degrees they both decline,
Both to the last with the fame luftre fhine:
Such equal flames infpir'd the happy pair,
Mutual their paffions, and the fame their care:
Though years expir'd, and youth confum d away.
Their fond affections never felt decay.

As when the fun our hemifphere refigns,
He leaves us light, and by reflection fhines:
And when the gloomy interval is o'er,
He rifes bright and glorious as before.
Such likeness in his fucceffor we find,
Left as the image of himself behind;
With all the virtues of his race endued;
The happy father's in the fon renew'd.

Methinks I fee a pompous tomb arife,
Beauteous the form, magnificent the size:

335

370

375

To couch at curfeu-time they thought no fcorn,
And froze at matins every winter-morn;
They read, an early book, the starry frame,
And lifp'd each conftellation by its name;
Art after art fill dawning to their view,

And their mind opening as their ftature grew. Yet, whofe ripe manhood fpread our fame f● far,

Sages in peace, and demi-gods in war!
Who, ftern in fight, m de echoing Crelli ring,
And, mild in conqueft, ferv'd his captive king!
Who gain'd, at Agincourt, the victor's bays;
Nor gave him!elf, but gave good Heaven, the
praife!

ihy nurfelings ancient dome! to virtue form'd; To mercy liftening, whilft in fields they ftorm'd; ierce to the fierce; and warm th' oppreft to fave; Though life rever'd, and worship d in the grave!

IN

THE SPECTATOR.

N courts licentious, and a fhameless stage, How long the war fhall wit with virtue wage? Inchauted by this prostituted fair,

Our youth run headlong in the fatal foare;
In height of rapture clafp unheeded pains,
And fuck pollution through their tingling veins?
Thy spotlefs thoughts unfhock'd the priest may
hear,

And the pure veftal in her bofom wear.
To confcious blushes and diminish'd pride,
Thy glafs betrays what treacherous. love would
hide;

Nor harsh thy precepts, but infus'd by ftealth.
Pleas'd while they cure, and cheat us into health.
Thy works in Chloe's toilet gain a part,
And with his tailor fhare the fopling's heart:
Lafh'd in thy fatire, the penurious cit
Laughs at himself, and finds no harm in wit:
From felon gamefters the raw fquire is free,
And Briton owes her refcued oaks to thee.
His mifs the frolic Viscount dreads to toaft,
Or his third cure the fhallow Templar boaft;
And the rafh fool, who fcorn'd the beaten road,
Dares quake at thunder, and confefs his God.

The brainlefs ftripling, who, expell'd 'he town,
Damn d the stiff college and pedantic gown,
Aw'd by the name, is dumb, and thrice a week
Spells uncouth Latin, and pretends to Greek.
A fauntering tribe! fuch born to wide eftates
With yea and no in fenates ho'd debates:
At length defpis'd each to his fields retires,
Firt with the dogs, and king amidft the fquires;
From pert to ftupid, finks fupinely down,
In youth a coxcomb, and in age a clown.

Such reader's fcorn d, thou wing ft thy daring flight,

Above the stars, and tread'ft the fields of light; Fame, heaven and hell, are thy exalted theme, And visions fuch as Jove himfelf might dream; Man funk to flavery, though to glory born, Heaven's pride when upright, and deprav'd his fcorn.

Such hints alone could British Virgil lend, And thou alone deferve from fuch a friend ;

Through the new pupil foftering juices flow, Thruft forth the gems, and give the flowers to

blow:

Have been the fubject of the British fong.
Who hath not read of fam d Ramilia's plain,
Bavaria's fall, and Danube choak'd with flain!
Exhaufted themes a gentler note I raise,
And fing returning peace in fofter lays.
Their fury quell'd and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our heroes in the fylvan fhade:
Difbanding hofts are imag'd to my mind,
And warring powers in friendly leagues combin'd,
While eafe and pleasure make the nations fmile,"
And Heaven and Anna blefs Britannia's ifle.

Well fends our queen her mitred Bristol forth,
For early counfels fam'd and ng-try'd worth;
Who, thirty rolling years, had oft withheld
The Swede and Saxon from the dufty field;
Completely form'd to heal the Christian wounds,
To name the kings, and give each kingdom

bounds:

ON THE PROSPECT OF PEACE.

THE haughty Gaul, in ten campaigns o'er-
thrown,

Now ceas'd to think the western world his own,
Oft had he mourn'd his boafting leaders bound,
And his proud bulwarks fmoking on the ground:
In vain with powers renew'd he fill'd the plain,
Made timorous vows, and brib'd the faints in vain;
As oft his legions did the fight decline,
Lurk'd in the trench, and fkulk'd behind the line.
Before his eyes the fancied javelin gleams,
At feafts he arts, and feems dethron'd in dreams;
On glory paft reflects with facred pain.
On mines exhausted, and on millions flain.

To Britain's Queen the fcepter'd fuppliant
bends,

To her his crowns and infaat race commends, Who grieves her fame with Chriflian blood to buy, Nor afks for glory at a price fo high. At her decree, the war fufpended ftands, And Briton's heroes hold their lifted hands, Their open brows no threatening frowns difguife, But gentler paffions (parkle in their eyes. The Gauls, who never in their courts could find Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd, Doubt if they're thofe, whom dreadful to the view In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew; At whofe dire names ten thousand widows prest Their helplfs orphans clinging to the breast. In filent rapture each his foe surveys; They vow firm friendship, an give mutual praife. Brave m nds, howe 'er at war, ar fecret friends; Their generous difcord with the battle ends; in peace they wonder whence diffenfion rofe, And ask how fouls fo like could e'er be foes. Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound, And focial clarions mix the r fprightly found The British figs are furl'd her troops difband, And featter'd armies feek their native land. The hardy veteran, proud of many a fear, The manly charms and honours of the war, Who hop'd to fbare his friend s illuftrious doom And in the battle find a foldier's tomb, Leans on his fpear to take his farewell view, And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.

Ye generous fair, receive the brave with fmiles, O'er pay their fleepless nights, and crown their toils;

Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due,

For you they conquer, and they bleed for you,
In vain proud Gaul with boaftful Spain confpires,
When English valour English beauty fires;
The nations dread your eyes, and kings deípair
Of chiefs fo brave, till they have nymphs to fair.
See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,
Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er every
wound,

Hangs on the lips that fields of blood relate,
And fmiles, or trembles, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl he draws the fancy'd line,
And marks feign'd trenches in the flowing wine,
Then fets th'invested fort before his eyes,
And mines, that whir'd battalions to the skies:
His little liftening progeny turn pale,
And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.

Such dire atchievements fings the baid, that tells Of palfrey d dames, bold knights and magic ípells, Where whole brigades one champion's arms o'erthrow,

And cleave a giant at a random blow,
Slay paynims vile, that force the fair, and tame
The goblin's fury, and the dragon's flame,

Our eager youth to diftant nations run,
To vifit fields, their valiant fathers won ;
From Flandria's fhore their country's fame they

trace,

Till far Germania fhews her blafted face.
Th' exulting Briten afks his mournful guide,
Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd:
Where Stepney gravid the stone to Anna's fame,
He points to Blenheim, once a vulgar name;
Here fled the Houshold, there did Tallard yield,
Here arlborough turn'd he fortune of the field,
On these fleep banks, near Danube s raging flood:
The Gauls thrice started back,and trembling stood:
When, Churchill s arm perceiv'd, they food not

long,

But plunged amidst the waves, a desperate throng, Crowds whelm'd on crowds dafh'd wide the wa

tery b d,

And drove the current to its diftant head.

As when by Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands A warlike courfer on the canvas stands, Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore, Or fet young Ammon on the Granic fhore; If chance a generous steed the work behold, He fnorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold: So, Hocftet seen, tumultuous paflions roll, And hints of glory fire the Briton's foul, In fancy'd fights he fees the troops engage, And all the tempefts of the battle rage.

Charme, ye powers, with fcenes lefs nobly
bright,

Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Mufe delight,
Content to fee the honours of the field
By plou h-fhares levell'd, or in flowers conceal'd.
O'er fhatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grafs luxuriant clothe the harmless mine.
Tame flocks afcend the breach without a wound,
Or crop the bastion, now a fruitful ground;

While

While fhepherds fleep, along the rampard laid, Or pipe beneath the formidable shade.

Who was the man? Oblivion blaft his name, Torn out, and blotted from the list of fame! Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave, First fonk the filial fubject to a ilave,

His neighbours realms by frauds unkingly gain d
In guiltlefs blood the facred ermine ftain'd,
Laid fchemes for death, to laughter turn'd his

heart,

And fitted murder to the rules of art.

Ah! curft ambition, to thy lures we owe All the great ills, that mortals bear below. Curt by the hind, when to the fpoil he yields His year's whole fweat, and vainly ripen'd fields; Curft by the maid, torn from her lover's fide,' When left a widow, though not yet a a bride: By mothers curft, when floods of tears they shed, And scatter ufelefs rofes on the dead. Oh, facred Briftol! then, what dangers prove The arts, thou fmil'it on with paternal tove? Then, mixt with rubbish by the brutal foes, In vain the marble breathes, the canvas glows; To fhades obfcure the glittering fword puriues The gentle poet, and defenceles Mufe. A voice like thine, alone, might then affwage The warrior's fury, and control his rage; To hear thee fpeak, might the fierce Vandal ftand, And fling the brandifh d fabre from his hand.

Far hence he drives to Scythia's ftormy fhore The drum's harfh mufic, and the canon's roar ; Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain, Where Fartar clans and grizly Coffacks reign; Let the steel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries, See virgins ravifh'd with relentless eyes, To death grey heads and fmiling infants doom, Nor fpare the promife of the pregnant womb, O'er wafted kingdoms fpread his wide command, The favage lord of an unpeopled land.

Her guiltless glory jutt Britannia draws, From pure religion, and impartial laws, 10 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 fweet Venus (fo the fable fings) Awak'd by Nereids, from the ocean fprings, With fmiles the fees the threatening billows rife, Spread fmooth the surge, and clears the louring fkies.

Lighto'erthedeep,withfluttering cupidscrown'd The pearly couch and filver turtles bound; Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.

midit the world of waves fo fands ferene Britannia's ifle, the ocean's flately queen; In vain the nations have confpir'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 juice more prevail'd! Her labours are, to plead th' Almighty's caufe, Her pride, to teach th' untam'd barbarian laws:

Who conquers wins by brutal ftrength the prize; But 'tis a godlike work to civilize.

Have we forgot how from great Ruffia's throne The king, whole power half Europe's regions own, Whofe fceptre waving with one fhout rufh forth In fwarms the harnefs'd millions of the north, Through realms of ice purfued his tedious way o court our friendship, and our fame furvey! Hence the rich prize of ufeful arts he bore, And round his empire pread the learned ftore: (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 gu'phs unufual navies bear; With Runick lays Smolensko's forests ring, And wondering Volga hears the Mafes fing. Lid not the painted kings of India greet Our Queen, and lay their fceptres at her feet? Chiefs who fuil bowls of hostile blood had quaff'd, Fam'd for the javelin, and invenom'd shaft, Whofe haughty brows made avages adore, Nor how'd to lefs than tats or fun before. Her pitying fmile 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 fprings! Which o'er new worlds makes heaven's indulgence fhine,

And rangs myriads under laws divine.
Well bought with all that thofe fweet regionshold,
With groves of fpices, and with mines of goid.

Fearless our merchant now purfues his gain,
And roams fecurely o er the boundless main.
Now o'er his head the polar bear he fpies,
And freezing fpangles of the Lapland skies;
Now fwells his canvas to the fultry line,
With glittering fpoils where Indian grottos fhine,
Where fumes of incenfe glad the fouthern feas,
And wafted citron feents the balmy breeze.
Here nearer funs prepare the ripening gem,
To grace great Anne's imperial diadem,
And here the ore, whefe melted mafs fhall 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 Anua glow,
And Churchill's word hang o er the proftrate foe;
In comely wounds fhall bleeding worthies ftand,
Webb's firm platoon, and Lumley's faithful band,
Bold Mordaunt in Iberi in trophies dreft,
And Campbell's dragon on his d untless breaft,
Great Ormond s deeds on Vigo's fpoils enroll'd,
And Guifcard s knite on Harley's Chili go'd.
And f the Mufe, O Brifto might decree,
Here Granville noted by the lyre fhould be
he lyre for Grnville, and the crois for thee.
Such are the honours grateful Britain pays;
So patriots merit, and fo monarchs praife.
O'er diftant times fuch records fhall, revail,
When English numbers antiquated, fail;)
A trifling fong the Mufe an 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 the.

From