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Or pierce the broken soe's remotest lines, No toils are painful that can danger show, The hardy veteran with tears resigns.

No climes unlovely that contain a foe. Unfortunate Tallard! Oh, who can name The rovin Gaul, to his own bounds restrain'd, The pangs of rage, of sorrow and of shaine, Learns 10 encamp within his native land: That with mix'd tunult in thy bosom swell’d, But soon as the victorious host he spies, When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops re- From hill to hill, from stream to strearn he fies, pellid,

Such dire impressions in his heart remain Thinc only son pierc'd with a deadly wound, Of Marlborough's sword, and Hochstet's fatal Cookid in his blood, and gasping on ihe ground; plain : Thyself in bondage by the vicior kept ! In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets The chies, the father, and the captive wept. Their shady coverts and obscure retreats ; An English Muse is touch'd with generous woe, They fly the conqueror's approaching fame, And in th' unhappy man forgets the foe! Thai bears the force of armies in his name. Greatly distress'd, thy loud complaints forbear, Austria's youbig monarch, whese imperial sway Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war; Sceptres and thrones are destin d 10 obey, Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own Whose boasted ancestry so high extends The fatal field by such great leaders won, That in the Pagan guds his lineage ends, The field whence famid Eugenio hore away Comes from afar, in gratitude to own Only the second honors of ihe day. (fell, The great supporter of his father's throne :

With floods of gore ihat from the vanquish'd What tides of glory to his bosom ran, The marshes stagnate, and the rivers suell. Clasp'd in the embraces of the godlike man! Nountains of slain lie heap'd upon the ground, Ilow were his eyes with pleasing wonder tix'd Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drown'd; To see such fire with so much sweetness mix'd, Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains Such easy greatness, such a graceful port, In painful bondage and inglorious chains; So turn’dand finish'd for the camp or court! Ev'n those who 'scape the fetters and the sword, Achilles was thus form'd with ev'ry grace, Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord, And Nireus shone but in the second place; Their raging King dishonors, to complete, Thus the great father of Almighty Rome Marlborongh's great work, and finish the defeat. (Divinely flush'd with an immortal bloom From Alcmminghen's high domes, and Aug. That Cyiberea's fragrant breath bestow'd) sburg's walls,

In all the charnis of his bright mother glowd. The distani batile drives th' insulting Gauls; The royal youth, by Marlboroughi's presence Freed by the terror of the victor's name,

charind, The rescued states his great protection claim; Taught by his counsels, by his actions warm'd, Whilst Ulin th' approach of her deliverer waits, On Landau with redoubled fury falls, And longs to open her obsequions gates. Discharges all bis thunder on his walls;

The hero's breast still swells with great designs, O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight, In ev'ry thought the tow'riny genius shines : And learns to conquer in the hero's sight. If to the foc his dreadful course he bencis The British chief for mighty toils renownd, O'er the wide continent his march extends ; Increas'd in vitles, and with conquests crown'd, If sieges in luis lab’ring thoughts are formid, To Belgian coasts his tedious marcli renews, Camps are assaulted, and an army storm'd; And the long windings of the Rhine pursues, If to the fight his active soul is bent,

Clearing its borders from usurping foes, The fate of Europe turns on its event. And blest by rescued nations as he goes. What distant land, what region, can afford Treves fears ino more, freed from its dire alarns; An action worthy his victorious sword? And Traerbach fects the terror of his arms: Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat, Scated on rocks her prond foundations shake, To make the series of his toils complete? While Marlborough presses to the bold attack,

Where the swoli Rhine rushing with all its Plants all his batı'ries, bids his cannon rar, Divides the hosule nations in its course, [force And shows how Landau might have tall'n before. Whileeae contracts its bounds, or wider grows, Scar'd at his near approach, great Louis fears Enlar'dc straighten'd as the river flows, Vengeance reserv'll for his declining years, Ou Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands, Forgets his thirst of universal sway,

Tha all he will extended plaiu commands ; And scarce can teech his subjects to ober; Tuic, since the war was kindled, has it tried arms he finds on rain attempts empinyd, Thie victors rage, and twice has chang‘d its side ; Th'ambitious projects for his race destroyd, As of whele arniies, with the prize o'erjoy'd, The works of ages sunk in one campaign, Hare long summer on iis wall: employ'd. And lives of millions sacrific'd in vain. Hither cur mighty chief his arms directs, Such are th' effects of Anna's royal cares; licu ce future iriumphs from the war expects ; By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars,

homh leveg-star had its course begun, Ranges thro' nations, whereso'er disjoin'd, Carbiarus still nearer to the sun : Without the wonted aid of sea and wind Fiz d pihe glorious action he forgets

By her th unfetter'd Ister's states are free, The change of seasons, and increase of heats; and taste' the sweets of English liberty :


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But who can tell the joys of those that lie Halves, more than halves ! cried honcst Care,
Beneath the constant influence of her eye! Your pleas would make your titles fair ;
Whilst in diffusive show'rs her bounties fall You claim the body, you the soul,
Like Heaven's indulgence, and descend on all, But I, who join'd them, claim the whole.
Secure the happy, succour the distress'd, Thus with the gods debate began,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people blest. On such a trivial cause as man,

Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse, And can celestial tempers rage?
In the smooth records of a faithful verse ; Quoth Virgil, in a later age.
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail, As thus they wrangled, Time came by
Alay tell posterity the wond'rous tale. (There's none that paint him such as I:
When actions, unacorn'd, are faint and weak, For what the fabling antients $ung
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;

Makes Saturn old when Time was young):
Gods may descend in fictions from the skies, As yet bis winters had not shed
And rivers from their oozy beds arise;

Their silver honors on his head;
Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays, He just had got his pinions free
And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze :

Froin his old sire, Eternity. Marlborough's exploits appear divincly bright, A serpent girdled round he wore, And proudly shine in their own native light;

The tail within the mouth before ; Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they By which our alınanacs are clear boast;


. That learned Egypt meant the year. And those who paint them truest, praise them A staff he carried, where on high

A glass was fix'd to measure by,

As amber boxes made a show
§ 41. An Allegory on Man. Parnell. For heads of canes an age ago.
A THOUGHTFUL being, long and spare, His vest, for day and night, was pied;
Our race of mortals call him Care,

A bending sickle arm'd his side; (Were Ilomer living, well he knew

And Spring's new months his trade adorn
What name the gods have called him too); The other Seasons were unborn.
With fine mechanic genius wrought,

Known by the gods, as near he draws,
And lov'd to work, though no one bought. They make himn umpire of the cause.
This being, by a model lored

O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, In Jove's eternal sable head,

Where since his hours a dial made; Contrivd a shape empower'd to breathe, Then, leaning, heard the nice debate, And be the worldling here beneath.

And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate: The man rose staring, like a stake,

Since body, from the parent Earth, Wond'ring to see himself awake!

And soul from Jove receiv'd a birth, Then look'd so wise, before he knew

Return they where they first began; The business he was made to do,

But, since iheir union makes the man, That, pleas'd to see with what a grace

Till Jove and Earth shall put these two, He gravely show'd his forward face,

To Care, who join'd them, man is due. Jore talk á of breeding him an high,

He said, and sprung with swift career An under-somcthing of the sky.

To trace a circle for the year; But ere he gave the mighty nod,

Where ever since the Seasons wheel,
Which ever binds a poet's god

And tread on one another's heel.
(For which his curls ambrosial shake, 'Tis well, said Jove; and, for consent,
And mother Earth's obliged to quake), Thund'ring he shook the firmament.
He saw his mother Earth arise;

Our umpire Time shall have his way;
She stood confess'd before his eyes ;

With Care I let the creature stay :
But not with what we read she wore; Let bus'ness vex him, av'rice blind,
A castle for a crown before ;

Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind,
Nor with long streets and longer roads Let error act, opinion speak,
Dangling behind her, like coinmodes : And want affiot, and sickness break,
As yet with wreaths along she dress’d, And anger burn, dejection chill,
And trail'd a landscape-painted vest,

And joy distract, and sorrow kill;
Then thrice she rais'd, as Ovid said,

Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,
And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. Time draws the long distracted blow;

Her honors made — Great Jové she cried, And wasted man, whose quick decay
This thing was fashion'd from my side : Comes hurrying on before his day,
His hands, his heart, his head are mine ; Shall only find by this decree,
Then what hast thou to call him thine ? The soul' Alies sooner back to me.

Nay, rather ask, the Monarch said,
What boots his hand, his heart, his head,

§ 42. The Book-Worm. Parnell. Were what I gave remor'd away?

Come hither, boy, we 'll hunt to-day
Thy part 's an idle shape of clay.

The Book-worm, rav'ning beast of prey!
Аа 4

Produc'd to song,

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Produc'd by parent Earth, at odds,

I strike the scales that arm thec round, As Fame reports it, with the gods.

And twice and thrice I print the wound; Him frantic hunger wildly drives

The sacred aitar floats with red, Against a thousand author's lives :

And now he dies, and now he's dead. Through all the fields of wil he flies ;

How like the son of Jove I stand, Dreadfuị his wit with clust'ring eyes,

This Hydra stretch'd bencath iny hand! With horns without, and rusks within, Lay bare the monster's entrails here, And scales to serve him for a skin.

To see what dangers threat the year : Observe him nearly, lest he climb

Ye gods ! what sonnets on a wench! To wound the bards of antient time,

What lean translations out of French! Or down the vale of Fancy go,

"Tis plain this lobe is so unsound, To teas soine modern wreich below.

S- prints before the months go round On ev'ry comer fix thine eye,

But hold - before I close the scene, Or ten to one he slips thee by.

The sacred altar should be clean. See where his tecth a passage eat :

Oh bad I Shadwell's second bavs, We'll rouse him from the deep retreat, Or, Tate, thy pert and humble lays ! But who the shelter 's forc'd to give?

(Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow 'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live;

I never miss'd your works till now) From leaf 19 lef, from song

I 'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine He draws the tadpole form along;

(That only way you please the Nine;) He mounts the gilded edge before;

But since I chance 10 want these two, He's up, he sculis the cover o'er;

l'll make the songs of Durfey do. He turns, he doubles, there he pass'd;

Rent from the corpse, on yonder pin And here we have him, caughi at last, I hang the scales that brac'd it in; Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse

I hang my studious morning gowi), The sweetest servants of the Musc !

And write my own inscription down : (Nay, never offer to deny,

This trophy from the Python won, I took thee in the fact to fly:)

“ This robe in which the deed was done, His roses nipt in ev'ry page,

“ These, Parnell, glorying in the feat, My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage ;

“ Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. By thee my Ovid wounded lies;

“ Here ignorance and hunger found By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies;

“ Large realms of wit to ravage round; Thy rabid teeth have half destroy'd

“ Here ignorance and hunger tell, The work of love in Biddy Floyd;

" Two foes in one I sent to hell. They rent Belinda's locks


" Ye poets, who my labors see, And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay,

" Come share the triumph all with me! For all, for ev'ry single deed,

" Ye critics ! born to vex the Muse, Relentless justice bids the bleed.

“ To mourn the grand ally you lose." Then fall a victim to the Nine, Myself the priest, my desk the shrine.

§ 43. Ad Amicos *. R. W'est. Bring Hoiner, Virgil, Tasso near,

Yes, happy yonths, on Camụs' sedgy side, To pile a sacred altar here:

You feel each joy that friendship can divide; Hold, boy, thy hand outruns thy wit,

Each realm of science and of art explore, You've reach'd the plays that Dennis writ : And with the antient blend the niodern lore. You've reached me Philips' rustic strain; Studious alone to learn whate'er may tend Pray take your mortal Bards again.

To raise the genius, or the heart to mend; Come, bind the victim -- there he lies, Now pleas'd along the cloister'd walk you rore, And here between his num'rous eyes

And irace the verlant mazes of the grove, This venerable dust I lay,

Where social oft, and oft alone, you choose Frein manuscripts just swept away.

To catch the zephyr, and to court the Muse. The goblet in ny hand I take

Meantime at me (while ail devoid of art (For the libation 's yet to make)

These lines give back the image of my heart)-A health to poets all their days,

At me the pow'r, that comes or soon or late, May they have bread, as well as praise ; Or aims, or seems to aim, the dart of fate; Sense may they seck, and less engage

From you, reinote, methinks, alone I stand, In papers fill'd with party rage :

Like some sad exile in a desart land : But, if their riches spoil their vein,

Aroumd no friends their lenient care to join Ye Muses, make them poor again.

Inmutual warmth,andınix their heart with mine,
Now bring the weapon, yonder blade, Or real pains, or those which fancy raise,
With which


l'or ever blot the sunshine of my days; Almost all Tibullus's Elegy is imitated in this little Piece, from whence his tracsition to Mr. Pope's letter is very artfully contrived, and bespeaks a degree of judgement much beyond Mr.West's years,


pens are made.

To sickness still, and still to grief a prey, Lov'd in my life, lamented in my

end, Healih turns from me her rosy face away. Their praise woull crown me, as their precepts

Just Heav'n! whatsin,cre life begins to bloom, mend : Devotes my lead untimely to the tomb? To them may these fond lines my name endear; Did ere this hand against á brother's life Not from the poet, but the friend sincere. Drugthedire bowl, or point the murd'rous kvife? Did c'er this tougue the slanderer's tale proclaim,

$44. An Address to Hinter. Cowper. Or madly violate my Maker's name?

Oh Vinter! ruler of th' invertell

year, Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe,

Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ishes fill's), Orknow a thought but all the worll might know? Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, rhy checks As yet, just started from the lists of time,

Fring 'd with a beard made witte with other My growing years have scarcely told their prime ; snows Useless, as yet, thro' lite l've idly run, Than those of age; thy forehead wrapt in clouds; No pleasures tasted, and few daties done.

A leafless branch thy sceptre ; and thy throne Ah who, ere autumn's mellowing suns appear, A sliding car indebted to no wheels, Would pluck the promise of the vernali

1 year; But org'd by storms along its slippery way; Or, ere the grapes their purple hue betray, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, Tear the crude cluster from the morning spray? And dreaded as thon art. Thon hold'st the son Stern power of Fate, whose ebon sceptre rules A pris’ner in the yet uddawning east, The Stygian desarts and Ciminerian pools, Short'ning his journey beiween morn and noon, Forbear, nor rashly smite my youthful heart, And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 1 victim yet unworthy of thy dart;

Down to the rosy west : But kindly still Ah, stay till age shall blast my withering face, Compensating his loss with added hours Shake in my head, and falter in my pace; Of social converse and insiructive case, Then aim the shaft, then meditate the blow, And gathering at short notice in one group And to the dead iny willing shade shall go. The family dispers'd, and fixing thought,

How weak is Män to Reason's judging eye! Not less dispers’d by day-light and its cares.
Born in this moment, in the next we die; I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Part inortal clay, and part ethereal fire, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
Too proud to creep, too humble to aspire, And all the comforts that the lowly roof
In vain our plans of happiness we raise, Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours
Pain is our lot, and patience is our praise; Of long uninterrupted evening know.
Wealth, lineage, honors, conquest, or a throne, Norailing wheels stop short before these gates;
Are what the wise would fear to call their own. No powder'd pert, proficient in the art
Health is at besi a vain precarious thing, Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
And fair-fac'd youth is ever on the wing; Till the street rings. No stationary steeds,
Tis like the stream beside whose wat'ry bed Cough their own knell, while heedless of the
Soine blooming plant exalts his fow'ry head,
Nurs’d by the wave the spreading branches rise, The silent circle fan themselves, and quake;
hade all i he ground, and flourish to the skies; But here the needle plies its busy task,
The waves the while beneath in secret dow, The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow's
A.. undermine the hollow bank below : Wrought patiently into the snowry lawn
Wicie and more wiile the waters urge their way, Unfolds its boson, burls, and leares, and sprigs,
Bare all the roots, and on their fibres prey; And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd,
Too late the plant bewails his foolish pride, Follow the nimble finger of the fair,
And sinks, untimely, in the whelming tide. A wreath that cannot fide, of flowers that blow

But why repine? Does life deserve my sigh? With most success when all besides decay.
Few will lament my loss whene'er I die. The poet's or historian's page, by one
For those, the wretches I despise or hate, Made vocal for th'amusement of the rest :
I neither envy nor regard their fate.

Thesprightly lyre, whose treasureofsweetsounds For me, whene'er all-conqu’ring Death shall The touch from many a trembling chord shakes

spread His wings around my unrepining head, And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, I care not : tho' this face be seen no more, And in the charming strite triumphant still, The world will pass as cheerful as before; Beguile the nigiit, and sei a keener edge Bright as before the day-star will appear, On female industry; the threaded steel The fields as verdant, and the skies as clear; Flies swiftly, and urfelt the task proceeds. Var surms nor comets will my doon declare, The little volume clos'el, the customary rites Nor signs on earth, nor portents in the air ; Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal, Unknown and silent will depart my breath, Such as the mistress of the world once found Vor nature e'er take notice of iny death. Delicious, when her patriots of high note, Yet some there are (ere spent my vital days) Perhaps by moon-lighi, at their humble doors, Within whose breasts any tomb I wish to raise. And under an old oak's domestic shade,




Injoy’d, spare feast, a radish and an egg. That it belongs to freemen, would disgust Discourse ensues, pot trivial, yet not dull,

And shock me. I should then with double Nor such as with a frown forbids the play

pain Of fancy, or prescribes the sound of mirih. Feel all the rigor of thy fickle clime; Nor do we madly, like an impious world, And if I must bewail ihe blessing lost 11 ho deem religion plırenzy, and the Gol

For which our Hampdeus and our Sidneys That made them an intruder on their joys,

Start at his awful name, or deem his praise I would at least bewail it under skies
A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone Vilder, ainong a people less ausicre,
Exciting oft our gratitude and love,

In scenes which having never known me free, While we retrace with memory's pointing Would not reproach me with the loss I felt.

wand, That calls the past to our exact review, The dangers we have 'scapid, the broken snare, I know the mind that feels indeed the fire

$ 46. Description of a Poet. Cowper. The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found Unlook'd for, lite preserv'd and peace restor’d,

The Muse imparts, and can command the lyre,

Acts with a force and kindles with a zeal, Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.

Whatc'er the theine, that others never feel. Oh evenings worthy of the gods ! esclaim'd The Sabine bard. 'Oh, evenings ! I reply,

If human woes her soft attention claim, More to priz'd and coveted than yours,

A tender sympathy pervades the frame; As more illumind and with nobler truths,

She pours a sensibility disine
That I, and Mine, and those we love, enjoy.

Along the nerve of ev'ry feeling line.
But if a deed not tamely to be borne

Fire indignation, and a sense of scorn, § 45. Lilerly renders England preferable 10 The strings are swept with such a pow'r

, so other Nations, notwithstanding Taxes, &c.

loud, Cowper. The storm of music shakes the astonish'd

crowd. "Trs Liberty alone that gires the flow'r Of Aceting life its lustre and perfume,

So when remote futurity is brought And we are weeds without it. All constraint,

Before the keen inquiry of her thought, Except what wisdomn lays on evil men,

A terrible sagacity informs Is evil, burts the faculties, impedes

The poet's heart, he looks to distant storms,

He hears the thunder ere the tempest low'rs, Their progress in the road of science; blinds The eye-sight of discovery, and begets

And, armid with strength surpassing hunan In those that suffer it a sordid mind


Seises events as yet unknown to man, Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit

And Jarts his soul into the dawning plan. To be the tenant of man's noble form. Thee therefore, still, blame-worthy as thou art, Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name With all thy loss of empire, and though squeez'd of Prophet and of Poet was the sanie;

llence British By public exigence till annual food

poets to the priesthood shar'd, Fails for the craving hunger of the state,

Judev'ry hallow'd Druid was a bard.
Theel account still happy, and the chief
Among the nations, seeing thou art free!
My native nook of earth! thy clime is rule,

$ 47. Love Elogios. By
Replete with vapors, and disposes much
All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine;
Thine unadult'rate manners are less soft 'Tis night, dead night; and n'er the plain
And plausible than social life requires,

Darkness extends her ebon ray, And thou hast need of discipline and art

Ilhile wide along the gloomy scene
To give thee what politer France receives

Derp silence holds her solemu sway.
From Nature's bounty — that humane address Throughout the carth no cheerful beair
And sweetness, without which no picasure is The inelancholic eye surveys,
In converse, either starv'd by cold reserve, Save where the worni's fantastic glearn
Or fiush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl ; The 'nighted traveller betrays.
Yet, being free, I love thee: For the sake
Of that one feature, can be well content,

The savage race (so hcaren decrees)

No longer through the forest rove; Disgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou-art,

All nature rests, and not a breeze
To seek no sublunary rest beside,

Disturbs the stillness of the grove.
But, once enslav’d, farewell! I could endure
Chains no where patiently; and chains at home, All nature rests ; in Sleep's soft arms
Where I am free by birthright, not at all. The village swain forgets his care:
Then what were left of roughness in the grain Sleep, that the stings of sorrow charms,
Or British natures, wanting its excuse

Aud hicals all sadness but despair.




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