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النشر الإلكتروني

Methinks I hear more friendly fhouts rebound, And social clarions mix their sprightly found; The British flags are furld, her troops disband, 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 share his friend's illustrious doom, And in the battle find a soldier'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 smiles,
O’erpay their sleepless nights, and crown their toils,
Soft beauty is the gallant soldier'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 sets th' invested fort before her eyes,
And mines that whirl'd battalions to the skies:
His little liftning progeny turn pale,
And beg again to hear the dreadful tale.

Such dire atchievements sings 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 visit fields their valiant fathers won; From Flandria's shore their country's fame they trace, Till fair Germania shews her blasted face. Th' exulting Briton asks his mournful guide, Where his hard fate the loft Bavaria try'd; Where Stepney gravid the stone to Anna's fame : He points' to Blenheim, once a vulgar name ; Here fied the Houshold, there did Tallard yield, Here Marlb'rough turn’d the fortune of the field; On those steep banks, near Danube's raging food, The Gauls thrice started back, and trembling stood ; When, Churchill's arm perceiv'd, they stood not long, But plung’d amidst the waves, a desp’rate throng ;


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Crowds whelm'd on crowds dash'd wide the wat'ry bedo
And drove the current to its distant head.

As when by Raphael's, or by Kneller's hands,
A warlike courser on the canvas stands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore,
Or set young Ammon on the Granic shore;
If chance a gen'rous steed the work behold,
He snorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy gold
So, Hocftet seen, tumultuous passions roll,
And hints of glory fire the Briton's foul;
In fancy'd fights he sees the troops engage,
And all the tempest of the battle rage.

Charm me, ye pow'rs, with scenes less nobly bright,
Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Mufe delight,
Content to see the horrors of the field
By plough-shares levell’d, or in flow'rs conceald.
O’er shatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grass luxuriant cloath the harmless mine,
Tame flocks ascend the breach without a wound,
Or crop the bastion, now a fruitful ground;
While shepherds sleep, along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable shade.

Who was the man, (Oblivion blast his name,
Torn out and blotted from the list of fame!)



Who, fond of lawless rule, and proudly brave,
First sunk the filial subject to a Nave;
His neighbour's realms by frauds un-kingly gain'd,
In guiltless blood the sacred ermine stain'd;
Laid schemes for death, to slaughter turn’d his heart,
And fitted murder to the rules of art ?

Ah! curs'd ambition, to thy lurés 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 side,
When left a widow, though not yet a bride;
By mothers curs'd, when floods, of tears they lhed,
And scatter useless roses on the dead.
Oh sacred Bristol! then what dangers prove
The arts, thou smilft on with paternal love?
Then, mix'd with rubbish by the brutal foes,
In vain the marble breathes, the canvas glows;
To shades obscure the glittring fword pursues
The gentle Poet and defencelefs Muse.
A voice, like thine alone, might then assuage
T'he warrior's fury, and controul his rage ;
To hear thee fpeak might the fierce Vandal ftand,
And fling the brandish'd fabre from his hand.


Far hence be driv'n to Scythia's stormy shore
The drum's harsh music, and the cannon's roar ;
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain,
Where Tartar-clans and grisly Coffacs reign;
Let the steel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravish'd with relentless cyes ;
To death grey heads and smiling infants doom,
Nor spare the promise of the pregnant womb;
O'er wasted kingdoms spread 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 she 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, (so the fable fings)
Awak'd by Nereids, from the Ocean springs ;
With smiles fhe sees the threat'ning billows rise,
Spreads smooth the surge, and clears the louring skies ;
Light, o'er the deep, with flutt'ring Cupids crown'd,
The pearly couch and silver turtles bound;
Her treffes shed ambrosial odours round.

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