Fatal ambition! fay what wondrous charms Delude mankind to toil for thee in arms! When all thy fpoils, thy wreaths in battle won, The pride of power, and glory of a crown, When all war gives, when all the great can gain, Ev'n thy whole pleasure, pays not half thy pain. All hail! ye fofter, happier arts of peace, 150 Secur'd from harms, and bleft with learned eafe ; In battles, blood, and perils hard, unskill'd, Which haunt the warrior in the fatal field;
But chief, thee, Goddess Muse! my verfe would raise,
And to thy own soft numbers tune thy praise;
Happy the youth infpir'd, beneath thy fhade,
Thy verdant, ever-living laurels laid!
There, fafe, no pleasures, there no pains they know,
But those which from thy facred raptures flow,
Nor wish for crowns, but what thy groves beftow.
Me, nymph divine! nor fcorn my humble prayer,
Receive unworthy, to thy kinder care,
Doom'd to a gentler, though more lowly, fate,
Nor wishing once, nor knowing to be great;
Me, to thy peaceful haunts, inglorious bring,
Where fecret thy celeftial fifters fing,
Paft by their facred hill, and sweet Castalian spring.
But nobler thoughts the victor prince employ,
And raise his heart with high triumphant joy;
From hence a better courfe of time rolls on,
And whiter days fucceffive seem to run.
From hence his kinder fortune feems to date
The rifing glories of his future ftate,
From hence!---But oh! too foon the hero mourns
His hopes deceiv'd, and war's inconftant turns.
In vain, his echoing trumpets loud alarms
Provoke the cold Iberian lords to arms;
Careless of fame, as of their monarch's fate,
In fullen floth fupinely proud they sate;
Or to be flaves or free alike prepar'd,
And trufting heaven was bound to be their guard,
Untouch'd with fhame, the noble strife beheld,
Nor once effay'd to struggle to the field;
But fought in the cold fhade, and rural feat,
An unmolested eafe and calm retreat :
Saw each contending prince's arms advance,
Then with a lazy dull indifference
Turn'd to their reft, and left the world to chance.
So when, commanded by the wife of Jove,
Thaumantian Iris left the realms above,
And fwift defcending on her painted bow,
Sought the dull god of fleep in fhades below;
Nodding and flow, his drowsy head he rear'd,
And heavily the facred meffage heard ;
Then with a yawn at once forgot the pain,
And funk to his first floth and indolence again.
But oh, my Muse! th'ungrateful toil forfake,
Some task more pleasing to the numbers take,
Nor choose in melancholy strains to tell
Each harder chance the jufter cause befel.
Or rather turn, aufpicious turn thy flight,
Where Marlborough's heroic arms invite,
Where highest deeds the poet's breast inspire
With rage divine, and fan the facred fire.
See! where at once Ramilia's noble field
Ten thousand themes for living verfe fhall yield.
See! where at once the dreadful objects rise,
At once they spread before my wondering eyes,
And fhock my labouring foul with vaft furprize;
At once the wide extended battles move,
At once they join, at once their fate they prove.
The roar afcends promifcuous; groans and cries,
The drums, the cannons' burst, the fhout, fupplies
One univerfal anarchy of noise.
One din confus'd, found mixt and loft in found, 215 Echoes to all the frighted cities round.
Thick duft and fmoke in wavy clouds arife,
Stain the bright day, and taint the purer fkies ;
While flashing flames like lightening dart between, 220
And fill the horror of the fatal fcene.
Around the field, all dy'd in purple foam,
Hate, fury, and infatiate flaughter roam;
Difcord with pleasure o'er the ruin treads,
And laughing wraps her in her tatter'd weeds;
While fierce Bellona thunders in her car,
Shakes terrible her fteely whip from far,
And with new rage revives the fainting war.
So when two currents rapid in their course
Rush to a point, and meet with equal force,
The angry billows rear their heads on high,
Dashing aloft the foaming furges fly,
And rising cloud the air with misty spry;
The raging flood is heard from far to roar,
By liftening fhepherds on the distant shore,
While much they fear, what ills it fhould portend,
And wonder why the watery gods contend.
High in the midft, Britannia's warlike chief,
Too greatly bold, and prodigal of life,
Is feen to prefs where death and dangers call,
Where the war bleeds, and where the thickeft fall,
He flies, and drives confus'd the fainting Gaul.
Like heat diffus'd, his great example warms,
And animates the focial warriors' arms,
Inflames each colder heart, confirms the bold,
Makes the young heroes, and renews the old.
In forms divine around him watchful wait
The guardian genii of the British state;
Justice and Truth his steps unerring guide,
And faithful Loyalty defends his fide;
Prudence and Fortitude their Marlborough guard,
And pleafing Liberty his labours chear'd;
But chief, the Angel of his Queen was there,
The union-crofs his filver fhield did bear,
And in his decent hand he fhook a warlike fpear.
While Victory celestial soars above,
Plum'd like the eagle of imperial Jove,
Hangs o'er the chief, whom the delights to bless,
And ever arms his fword with fure fuccefs,
Dooms him the proud oppreffor to destroy,
Then waves her palm, and claps her wings for joy. Such was young Ammon on Arbela's plain,
Or fuch the * painter did the hero feign,
Where rushing on, and fierce, he feems to ride,
With graceful ardor, and majestic pride,
With all the gods of Greece and fortune on his fide.
Nor long Bavaria's haughty prince in vain
Labours the fight unequal to maintain;
He fees 'tis doom'd his fatal friend the Gaul
Shall share the fhame, and in one ruin fall;
Flies from the foe too oft in battle try'd,
And heaven contending on the victor's fide
Then mourns his rafh ambition's crime too late,
And yields reluctant to the force of fate.
So when Æneas, through night's gloomy shade,
The dreadful forms of hoftile gods furvey'd,
Hopeless he left the burning town and fled : ̧
Saw 'twas in vain to prop declining Troy,
Or fave what heaven had deftin'd to deftroy.
What vast reward, O Europe, fhalt thou pay, 280
To him who fav'd thee on this glorious day!
Bless him, ye grateful nations, where he goes,
And heap the victor's laurel on his brows.
In every land, in every city freed,
Let the proud column rear its marble head,
To Marlborough and Liberty decreed;
Rich with his wars, triumphal arches raise,
To teach your wondering fons the hero's praise;
To him your skilful bards their verse shall bring,
For him the tuneful voice be taught to fing,
The breathing pipe shall fwell, shall found the trembling string.
O happy thou where peace for ever smiles,
Britannia! nobleft of the ocean's ifles,
Fair queen! who dost amidst thy waters reign,
And stretch thy empire o'er the farthest main:
What transports in thy parent bosom roll'd,
When fame at first the pleasing story told ↑
|