Nor hazard thus, confused in crowds of foes,
Britannia's safety and the world's repose;
Let nations, anxious for thy life, abate
This scorn of danger and contempt of fate:
Thou livest not for thyself; thy Queen demands
Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands;
Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join,
And Europe's destiny depends on thine.

At length the long-disputed pass they gain,

By crowded armies fortified in vain.

The war breaks in; the fierce Bavarians yield,
And see their
camp with British legions fill'd.
So Belgian mounds bear on their shatter'd sides
The sea's whole weight increased with swelling
But if the rushing wave a passage finds, [tides;
Enraged by watry moons and warring winds,
The trembling peasant sees his country round
Cover'd with tempests, and in oceans drown'd.
The few surviving foes dispersed in flight,
(Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight)
In every rustling wind the victor hear,

And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear,
Till the dark cope of night, with kind embrace,
Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace.
To Donavert, with unresisted force,

The

gay victorious army bends its course. The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields, Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields, (The Danube's great increase) Britannia shares, The food of armies and support of wars: With magazines of death-destructive balls, And cannon doom'd to batter Landau's walls, The victor finds each hidden cavern stored, And turns their fury on their guilty lord.

Deluded Prince! how is thy greatness cross'd,
And all the gaudy dream of empire lost,
That proudly set thee on a fancied throne,
And made imaginary realms thy own!

Thy troops, that now behind the Danube join,
Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine,
Nor find it there: surrounded with alarms,
Thou hopest the' assistance of the Gallic arms;
The Gallic arms in safety shall advance,
And crowd thy standards with the power of France,
While, to exalt thy doom, the' aspiring Gaul
Shares thy destruction and adorns thy fall.
Unbounded courage and compassion join'd,
Tempering each other in the victor's mind,
Alternately proclaim him good and great,
And make the hero and the man complete.
Long did he strive the' obdurate foe to gain
By proffer'd grace, but long he strove in vain,
Till, fired at length, he thinks it vain to spare
His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war.
In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand
With sword and fire, and ravages the land;
A thousand villages to ashes turns,

In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns.
To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat,
And, mix'd with bellowing herds, confus'dly bleat;
Their trembling lords the common shade partake,
And cries of infants sound in every brake:
The listening soldier fix'd in sorrow stands,
Loth to obey his leader's just commands;
The leader grieves, by generous pity sway'd,
To see his just commands so well obey'd.
But now the trumpet, terrible from far,
In shriller clangors animates the war,

Confederate drums in fuller consort beat,
And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat.
Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's join'd,
Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind;

The daring prince his blasted hopes renews,
And while the thick embattled host he views
Stretch'd out in deep array and dreadful length,
His heart dilates, and glories in his strength.
The fatal day its mighty course began,

That the grieved world had long desir'd in vain: States that their new captivity bemoan'd, Armies of martyrs that in exile groan'd,

Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard,
And prayers in bitterness of soul prefer'd,
Europe's loud cries, that Providence assail'd,
And Anna's ardent vows at length prevail'd:
The day was come when Heaven design'd to show
His care and conduct of the world below.
Behold in awful march and dread array
The long-extended squadrons shape their way!
Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;
Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,
And thirst of glory quells the love of life.
No vulgar fears can British minds control;
Heat of revenge, and noble pride of soul,
O'erlook the foe, advantaged by his post,
Lessen his numbers, and contract his host.
Though fens and floods possess'd the middle space,
That unprovoked they would have fear'd to pass;
Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands,
When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands.

But, O! my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle join'd!

Methinks I hear the drums' tumultuous sound
The victors' shouts and dying groans confound,
The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,
And all the thunder of the battle rise! [proved,
Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved,
Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war;
In peaceful thought the field of death survey'd,
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So when an angel, by divine command,
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia pass'd,
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast,
And, pleased the' Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm.

But see! the haughty household-troops advance,
The dread of Europe, and the pride of France:
The war's whole art each private soldier knows,
And with a general's love of conquest glows:
Proudly he marches on, and, void of fear,
Laughs at the shaking of the British spear.
Vain insolence! with native freedom brave,
The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave;
Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns,
Each nation's glory in each warrior burns;
Each fights as in his arm the' important day,
And all the fate of his great monarch, lay:
A thousand glorious actions, that might claim
Triumphant laurels and immortal fame,
Confused in crowds of glorious actions lie,
And troops of heroes undistinguish'd die.

O Dormer! how can I behold thy fate,
And not the wonders of thy youth relate?
How can I see the gay, the brave, the young,
Fall in the cloud of war, and lie unsung!
In joys of conquest he resigns his breath,
And, fill'd with England's glory, smiles in death.
The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run,
Compell'd in crowds to meet the fate they shun;
Thousands of fiery steeds, with wounds transfix'd,
Floating in gore, with their dead masters mix'd,
Midst heaps of spears and standards driven around,
Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drown'd,
Troops of bold youths, borne on the distant Soane,
Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhône,
Or where the Seine her flowery fields divides,
Or where the Loire through winding vineyards
In heaps the rolling billows sweep away, [glides,
And into Scythian seas their bloated corpse'convey.
From Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild af-
Beholds the various havoc of the fight;

[fright,
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 rise triumphant in the fatal breach,
Or pierce the broken foe's remotest lines,
The hardy veteran with tears resigns.

Unfortunate Tallard! oh! who can name The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame, That with mix'd tumult in thy bosom swell'd, When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repell'd! Thine only son pierced with a deadly wound, Choked in his blood, and gasping on the ground, Thyself in bondage by the victor kept! The chief, the father, and the captive, wept.