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Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound,
And focial clarions mix their sprightly found;
The British flags are furl'd, her troops difband,
And scatter'd armies seek their native land.
The hardy veteran, proud of many a scar,
The manly charms and honours of the war,
Who hop'd to fhare his friend's illustrious doom,
And in the battle find a foldier's tomb,
Leans on his fpear to take his farewel view,
And fighing bids the glorious camp adieu.
Ye generous fair, receive the brave with fmiles,
O'erpay their sleepless nights, and crown their toils
Soft beauty is the gallant foldier's due,
For you they conquer, and they bleed for
In vain proud Gaul with boastful Spain conspires,
When English valour English beauty fires;
The nations dread your eyes, and kings despair
Of chiefs fo brave, till they have nymphs fo fair.
See the fond wife, in tears of transport drown'd,
Hugs her rough lord, and weeps o'er ev'ry wound;
Hangs on the lips that fields of blood relate,
And smiles, and trembles, at his various fate.
Near the full bowl he draws the fancied line,
And marks feign'd trenches in the flowing wine,
Then fets th' invested fort before her eyes,
And mines that whirl'd battalions to the skies;
His little lift'ning progeny turn pale,
And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.
Such dire atchievements fings the bard that tells Of palfrey'd dames, bold knights, and magic spells; Where whole brigades one champion's arms o'erthrow, And cleave a giant at a random blow
Slay panyms vile, that force the fair; and tame
The goblin's fury, and the dragon's flame.
Our eager youth to distant nations run, To vifit fields their valiant fathers won;
From Flandria's fhore their country's fame they trace,
Till fair Germania fhews her blafted face.
Th' exulting Briton asks his mournful guide,
Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd;
Where Stepney grav'd the stone to ANNA's fame
He points to Blenheim, once a vulgar name;
Here fled the Houfhold, there did Tallard yield,
Here Marlb'rough turn'd the fortune of the field;
On those steep banks, near Danube's raging flood,
The Gauls thrice ftarted back, and trembling stood
When, Churchill's arm perceiv'd, they stood not long,
But plung'd amidst the waves, a desp❜rate throng;
Crowds whelm'd on crowds dash'd wide the watʼry bed
And drove the current to its diftant head.
As when by Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands,
A warlike courfer on the canvas ftands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore,
Or fet young Ammon on the Granic fhore;
If chance a gen❜rous steed the work behold,
He fnorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold:
So, Hocftet seen, tumultuous paffions roll,
And hints of glory fire the Briton's foul;
In fancy'd fights he sees the troops engage,
And all the tempeft of the battle rage.
Charm me, ye pow'rs, with scenes lefs nobly bright,
Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Muse delight,
Content to see the horrors of the field
By plough-shares levell❜d, or in flow'rs conceal'd.
O'er shatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grafs luxuriant cloath the harmless mine,
Tame flocks ascend the breach without a wound,
Or crop the bastion, now a fruitful ground;
While fhepherds fleep, along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable shade.
Who was the man, (Oblivion blast his name,
Torn out and blotted from the lift of fame!)
Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
First funk the filial fubject to a slave;
His neighbour's realms by frauds un-kingly gain'd,
In guiltless blood the facred ermine ftain'd;
Laid schemes for death, to flaughter turn'd his heart,
And fitted murder to the rules of art?
Ah! curs'd ambition, to thy lures we owe All the great ills that mortals bear below. Curs'd by the hind, when to the spoil he yields His year's whole sweat and vainly ripen'd fields; Curs'd by the maid, torn from her lover's fide, When left a widow, though not yet a bride; By mothers curs'd, when floods of tears they fhed, And scatter useless roses on the dead.
Oh facred BRISTOL! then what dangers prove
The arts, thou fmil'ft on with paternal love?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvas glows;
To shades obfcure the glitt'ring fword pursues
The gentle Poet and defencelefs Mufe.
A voice, like thine alone, might then affuage
The warrior's fury, and controul his
To hear thee fpeak might the fierce Vandal stand,
And fling the brandifh'd fabre from his hand.
Far hence be driv'n to Scythia's stormy shore
The drum's harfh music, and the cannon's roar;
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain,
Where Tartar-clans and grifly Coffacs reign;
Let the steel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravish'd with relentless eyes;
To death grey heads and fmiling infants doom,
Nor spare the promise of the pregnant womb;
O'er wafted kingdoms fpread his wide command,
The favage lord of an unpeopled land.
Her guiltless glory just Britannia draws
From pure religion, and impartial laws:
To Europe's wounds a mother's aid fhe brings,
And holds in equal scales the rival kings :
Her gen'rous fons in choiceft gifts abound,
Alike in arms, alike in arts renown'd.
As when sweet Venus, (fo the fable fings) Awak'd by Nereids, from the Ocean springs; With smiles fhe fees the threat'ning billows rise, Spreads fmooth the furge, and clears the louring skies; Light, o'er the deep, with flutt'ring Cupids crown'd, The pearly couch and filver turtles bound; Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.