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Here fled the Houshold, there did Tallard yield,
Here Marlb’rough turn'd the fortune of the field ;
On those steep banks, near Danube's raging flood,
The Gauls thrice started back, and trembling stood;
When, Churchill's arm perceiv'd, they stood not long,
But plung'd amidst the waves, a desp’rate throng;
Crowds whelm'd on crowds dash'd wide the watry bed,
And drove the current to its diftant head.

As when by Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands,
A warlike courser on the canvass stands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore,
Or set young Ammon on the Granic shore ;
If chance a gen'rous feed the work behold,
He snorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold :
So, Hocftet seen, tumultuous paffions roll,
And hints of glory fire the Briton's soul ;
In fancy'd fights he fees the troops engage,
And all the tempeft of the battle rage.

Charm me, ye pow'rs, with scenes less nobly bright,
Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Muse delight,
Content to see the horrors of the field
By plough-shares levell’d, or in flow'rs conceal'd.
O’er shatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grass luxuriant cloath the harmless mine,
Tame flocks ascend the breach without a wound,
Or crop the bastion, now a fruitful ground;
While shepherds sleep, along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable fhade,


Who was the man, (Oblivion blast his name,
Torn out and blotted from the list of fame !)
Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
First funk the filial subject to a slave;
His neighbour's realms by frauds un-kingly gain'd,
In guiltless blood the sacred ermine ftain'd ;
Laid schemes fordeath, toslaughter turn'd his heart,
And fitted murder to the rules of art !

Ah! cursd ambition, to thy lures we owe
All the


ills that mortals bear below.
Curs'd by the hind, when to the spoil he yields
His year's whole sweat and vainly-ripen'd fields ;
Curs'd by the maid, torn from her lover's side,
When left a widow, though not yet a bride ;
By mothers curs’d, when floods of tears they shed,
And scatter useless roses on the dead.
Oh sacred Bristol ! then what dangers prove
The arts, thou smil'st on with paternal love ?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvass glows ;
To shades obscure the glittring sword pursues
The gentle Poet and defenceless Muse.
A voice, like thine alone, might then assuage
The warrior's fury, and controul his rage ;
To hear thee speak might the fierce Vandal stand,
And Aling the brandish'd sabre from his hand.

Far hence be driv'n to Scythia's stormy shore
The drum's harsh music, and the cannon's roar ;

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Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain,
Where Tartar-clays and grisly Cossacs reign ;
Let the steel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravish'd with relentless eyes ;
To death grey beads and smiling infants doom,
Nor spare the promise of the pregnant womb;
O'er wasted kingdoms spread his wide command,
The savage lord of an unpeopled land.

Her guiltless glory juft Britannia draws
From pure religion, and impartial laws :
To Europe's wounds a mother's aid she brings,
And holds in equal scales the rival kings :
Her gen'rous fons in choicest gifts abound,
Alike in arms, alike in arts renown'd.

As when sweet Venus, (so the fable fings)
Awak’d by Nereids, from the Ocean springs ;
With smiles she fees the threat'ning billows rise,
Spreads smooth the surge, and clears the louring kkies;
Light, o'er the deep, with flutt'ring Cupids crown'd,
The pearly couch and silver turtles bound ;
Her treffes shed ambrofial odours round.

Amidst the world of waves fo stands serene
Britannia's ifle, the Ocean's stately 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 opprefs’d,
Hath not her anger quell'd, her aid redress'd ?
Say, where have e'er her unien-croffes fail'd,
But much her arms, her justice more prevail'd?
Her labours are to plead th' Almighty's cause,
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 Russia's throne
The king, whose pow'r half Europe's regions own,
Whose scepter waving, with one fout rush forthi
In swarms the harness’d millions of the north ;
Through realms of ice pursu'd his tedious way,
To court our friendship, and our fame survey!.
Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore,
And round his empire spread the learned store,
(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 Caspian gulfs unusual navies bear ;
With Runic lays Smolensko's forests ring,
And wond'ring Volga hears the Mofes fing.
Did not the painted kings of India greet
Our Queen, and lay their fcepters at her feet
Chiefs who full bowls of hostile blood had quaff?d,
Fam'd for the javelin, and invenom'd shaft ;
Whose haughty brows made favages adore,
Nor bow'd to less than stars, or fun. before :


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Her pitying smile accepts their suppliant claim,
And adds four monarchs to the Christian name.

Bleft use of pow'r ! O virtuous pride in kings !
And like his bounty, whence dominion springs !
Which o'er new worlds makes heaven's indulgence shine,
And ranges myriads under laws divine!
Well bought with all that those sweet regions hold
With groves of spices, and with mines of gold.

Fearless our merchant now pursues his gain,
And roams securely o'er the boundless main.
Now o'er his head the polar bear he spies,
And freezing spangles of the Lapland skies ;
Now swells his canvafs to the sultry line,
With glittring spoils where Indian grottoes shine ;
Where fumes of incense glad the southern seas,
And wafted citron scents the balmy breeze.
Here nearer suns prepare the rip’ning gem,
To grace great Anne's imperial diadem ;
And here the ore, whose melted mass shall yield
On faithful coins each memorable field ;
Which, mix'd with medals of immortal Rome,
May clear disputes, and teach the time to come.

In circling beains shall godlike ANNA glow,
And Churchill's sword hang o'er the proftrate foe;
In comely wounds fall bleeding worthies stand,
Webb’s firm platoon, and Lumly's faithful band !
Bold Mordaunt in Iberian trophies dress'd,
And Campbell's dragon on his dauntless breast ;


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