Twas then great Marlborough's mighty foul was prov'd,
That, in the fhock of charging hofts unmov'd,
Amidft.confufion, horror, and despair,
Examin'd all the dreadful fcenes of war:
In peaceful thought the field of death furvey'd,
To fainting fquadrons fent the timely aid,
Infpir'd repuls'd battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So when an angel by divine command
With rising tempefts shakes a guilty land,
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past,
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 houfhold-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 meanest Briton fcorns the highest slave;
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 thousand glorious actions, that might claim
Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame,
Confus'd in crouds of glorious actions lie,
And troops of heroes undiftinguifh'a die.
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 glorv, smiles in death. The rout begins, the Gallic fquadrons run, Compell'd in crouds to meet the fate they shun; Thousands of fiery fteeds with wounds transfix'd, Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixt, "Midft heaps of spears and standards driven around, Lie in the Danube's bloody whirl-pools drown'd. Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soane, Or founding borders of the rapid Rhône,
Or where the Seine her flowery 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 towers the Gaul, with wild affright,
Beholds the various havock of the fight;
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'ft thy braveft troops repell'd,
Thine only fon pierc'd with a deadly wound,
Chok'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 Muse is touch'd with generous woe,
m.forgets the foe!
And in th' unhappy man.
Greatly diftreft they 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 fuch great leaders won,
The field whence fam'd Eugenio bore away
Only the second honours of the day.
With floods of gore that from the vanquish'd fell
The marshes stagnate, and the rivers fwell.
Mountains of flain lie heap'd upon the ground,
Or 'midit the roarings of the Danube drown'd;
Whole captive hofts the conqueror detains
In painful bondage, and inglorious chains;
Ev'n those who 'cape the fetters and the sword,
Nor feek the fortunes of a happier lord,
Their raging King dishonours, to compleat
Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeat.
From Memminghen's high demes, and Augsburg's walls,
The distant battle drives th' infulting Gauls;
Freed by the terror of the victor's name
The rescued States his great protection claim;
Whilft Ulme th' approach of her deliverer waits,
And longs to open her obfequious gates.
The hero's breast still swells with great designs,
In every thought the towering 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 forin'd,
Camps are affaulted, and an army ftorm'd.;
If to the fight his active foul is bent,
The fate of Europe turns on its event.
What distant land, what region, can afford
An action worthy his victorious fword?
Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat,
To make the series of his toils compleat?
Where the swoln Rhine rushing with all its force
Divides the hostile nations in its course,
While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows,
Enlarg❜d or straiten'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'erjey'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 though the dog-star had its course begun,
Carries his arms ftill nearer to the fun :
Fixt on the glorious action, he forgets
The change of seasons, 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 host he fpies,
From hill to hill, from stream to ftream he flies :
Such dire impreffions in his heart remain
Of Marlborough's fword, and Hochstet's fatal plain :
In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets
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 fway
Sceptres and thrones are destin'd to obey,
Whofe boafted ancestry so high extends
That in the pagan gods his lineage ends,
Comes from afar, in gratitude to own
The great fupporter of his father's throne:
What tides of glory to his bofom ran,
Clafp'd in th' embraces of the godlike man 1
How were his eyes with pleafing wonder fixt
To fee fuch fire with fo much sweetness mixt,
Such eafy greatness, fuch a graceful port,
So turn'd and finish'd for the camp or court!
Achilles thus was form'd with every grace,
And Nireus fhone but in the second place;
Thus the great father of almighty Rome
(Divinely flusht with an immortal bloorn
That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestow'd)
In all the charms of his bright mother glow'd.
The royal youth by Marlborough's prefence charm'd,
Taught by his counfels, by his actions warm'd,
On Landau with redoubled fury falls,
Discharges all his thunder on its walls,
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