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Dooms him the proud Oppreffor to destroy,

Le Bruni

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, rufhing on, and fierce, he seems to ride,
With graceful Ardor, and majestick Pride,

With all the Gods of Greece and Fortune on his Side.
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 fhare the Shame, and in one Ruin fall;'
Flies from the Foe too oft in Battel try'd,
And Heav'n contending on the Victor's Side;
Then mourns his rafh Ambition's Crime too late,
And yields reluctant to the Force of Fate.

So when Eneas, thro' 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 Heav'n had destin'd to destroy.

What vaft Reward, O Europe, fhalt thou pay,
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 ev'ry Land, in ev'ry 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 wond'ring Sons 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 fhall fwell, fhall found the trembling
String.

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Oh happy thou! where Peace for ever smiles,
Britannia! nobleft of the Ocean's Ifles,

Fair Queen! who doft amidst thy Waters reign,
And stretch thy Empire o'er the fartheft Main;
What Transports in thy Parent Bosom roll❜á,
When Fame at first the pleafing Story told!
How didft thou lift thy Tow'ry Front on high!
Not meanly Confcious of a Mother's Joy,
Proud of thy. Son as Crête was of her Jove,
How were thou pleas'd Heav'n did thy Choice approve,
And fixt Succefs where thou hadst fixt thy Love.
How with Regret his Absence didst thou mourn!
How with Impatience wait his wifht Return!
How were the Winds accus'd for his Delay?
How didft thou chide the Gods who rule thy Sea,
And charge the Nereid Nymphs to waft him on his Way!
At length he comes, he ceases from his Toil,
Like Kings of Old returning from the Spoil;
To Britain and his Queen for ever dear,
He comes, their Joy and grateful Thanks to share;
Lowly he kneels before the Royal Seat,

And lays his proudéft Wreaths at ANNA's Feet..
While form'd alike for Labours or for Eafe,
In Camps to Thunder, or in Courts to please,
Britain's bright Nymphs make MARLBOROUGH their Care
In all his Dangers all his Triumphs fhare.

Conqu❜ring he lends the well-pleas'd Fair new Grace,
And adds fresh Luftre to each beauteous Face;
Britain preferv'd by his victorious Arms,

With wondrous Pleasure each fair Bofom warms,
Lightens in all their Eyes, and doubles all their Charins.

Ev'n

Ev'n his own Sunderland, in Beauty's Store
So Rich, fhe feem'd incapable of more,
Now fhines with Graces never known before;
Fierce with tranfporting Joy fhe feems to burn,
And each foft Feature takes a fprightly Turn;
New Flames are seen to sparkle in her Eyes,
And on her blooming Cheeks fresh Roses rife;
The pleafing Paffion heightens each bright Hue,
And feems to touch the finish'd Piece anew,
Improves what Nature's bounteous Hand had giv'n,
And mends the fairest Workmanship of Heav'n.
Nor Joy like this in Courts is only found,
But spreads to all the grateful People round
Laborious Hinds inur'd to Rural Toil,

To tend the Flocks and turn the mellow Soil,
In homely Guife their honeft Hearts exprefs,
And bless the Warrior who protects their Peace,
Who keeps the Foe aloof, and drives afar
The dreadful Ravage of the wafting War..
No rude Destroyer cuts the rip'ning Crop
Prevents the Harvest, and deludes their Hope;
No helpless Wretches fly with wild Amaze,
Look weeping back and fee their Dwellings blaze;
The Victor's Chain no mournful Captives know,
Nor hear the Threats of the insulting Foe.
But Freedom laughs, the fruitful Fields abound,
The chearful Voice of Mirth is heard to found,
And Plenty doles her various Bounties round.
The humble Village, and the wealthy Town,
Confenting join their Happiness to own,
What Heav'n and ANNA's gentleft Reign affords
All, is fecur'd by MARLBRO's conqu'ring Sword.

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O Sacred, ever Honour'd Name! O thou!
That wert our Greatest William once below!!
What Place foe'er thy Virtues now possess
Near the bright Source of everlasting Blifs,
Where-e'er exalted to Etherial Height,

Radiant with Stars, thou tread'ft the Fields of Light,
Thy Seats Divine, thy Heav'n a while forfake,
And deign thy Britain's Triumphs to partake.
Nor art thou chang'd, but ftill thou fhalt delight
To hear the Fortune of the glorious Fight,
How fail'd Oppreffion, and prevail'd the Right.
What once below, fuch ftill thy Pleasures are,
Europe and Liberty are ftill thy Care,

Thy Great, thy Gen'rous, Pure, Immortal Mind,
Is ever to the Publick Good enclin❜d,

Is fill the Tyrant's Foe, and Patron of Mankind.
Behold, where MARLBOROUGH, thy last best Gift,
At Parting, to thy Native Belgia left,
Succeeds to all thy kind Paternal Cares,
Thy watchful Counfels, and laborious Wars;
Like thee, extends his great affifting Hand,
And in thy Stead protects the Orphan Land,
Like thee, afpires by Virtue to Renown,
Fights to fecure an Empire not his own,
Reaps only Toil himself, and gives away a Crown.
At length thy Pray'r, O Pious Prince! is heard,
Heav'n has, at length, in its own Cause appear'd,
At length Ramillia's Field atones for all
The faithlefs Breaches of the perjur'd Gaul;
At length a better Age to Man decreed,

With Truth, with Peace, and Juftice fhall fucceed; # Fall'n are the Proud, and the griev'd World is freed.

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One

One Triumph yet, my Mufe, remains behind,
Another Vengeance yet the Gaul fhall find;
On Lombard Plains, beyond his Alpine Hills,
Louis the Force of Hoftile Britain feels;
Swift to her Friends diftrefs'd her Succours fly,
And diftant Wars her Wealthy Sons supply:
From flow unactive Courts, they grieve to hear
Eugene, a Name to ev'ry Briton dear,

By tedious languishing Delays is held
Repining, and Impatient, from the Field:
While factious Statesmen riot in Excefs,
And lazy Priefts whole Provinces poffefs,
Of unregarded Wants the Brave complain,
And the starv'd Soldier fues for Bread in vain;
At once with generous Indignation warm,
Britain the Treasure sends, and bids the Hero Arm.
Strait eager to the Field, he speeds away,
There vows the Victor Gaul shall dear repay
The Spoils of Calcinato's fatal Day:

Chear'd by the Presence of the Chief they love,
Once more their Fate the Warriors long to prove;
Reviv'd each Soldier lifts his drooping Head,
Forget's his Wounds, and calls him on to Lead;"
Again their Crefts the German Eagles rear,
Stretch their broad Wings, and Fan the Latian Air;
Greedy for Battel and the Prey they call,
And point great Eugene's Thunder on the Gaul.
The Chief Commands, and foon in dread Array
Onwards the moving Legions urge their Way;
With hardy Marches and fuccessful Hafte,
O'er ev'ry Barrier Fortunate they pass'd,
Which Nature or the skilful Foe had plac'd.

The

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