To horrid Zembla's frozen realms repair,
There with the baleful beldam, Night,
Unpeopled empire fhare,

And rob thofe lands of legal right:

For now is come the promis'd hour
When Juftice fhall have pow'r;

Juftice to earth restored,

Again Aftrea reigns!

Anna her equal fcale maintains,

And Marlbro wields her fure-deciding fword.

I

75

80

Now couldst thou foar, my Mufe! to fing the man 85 In heights fublime, as when the Mantuan fwan

Her tow'ring pinions spread,

Thou shouldft of Marlbrô fing, whofe hand,
Unerring from his Queen's command,

Far as the feven-mouth'd Ifter's fecret head,
To fave th' Imperial state, her hardy Briton's led.

II.

Nor there thy fong fhould end; tho' all the Nine'

Might well their harps and heav'nly voices join
To fing that glorious day

When bold Bavaria fled the field,

And veteran Gauls, unus'd to yield,

On Blenheim's plain imploring mercy lay,

90

95

What art could aid thy weary wing

To keep the victor ftill in view?

For as the fun ne'er stops his radiant flight,
Nor fets, but with impartial ray

To all who want his light

Alternately transfers the day;
So in the glorious round of fame
Great Marlbro! ftill the fame,
Inceffant runs his courfe:

To climes remote and near

His conqu'ring arms by turns appear,
And univerfal is his aid and force.

I.

Attempt not to proceed, unwary Mufe!

For, O! what notes, what numbers, couldst thou chufe,

Tho' in all numbers fkill'd:

To fing the hero's matchlefs deed

Which Belgia fav'd and Brabant freed!

To fing Ramillia's day! to which must yield

115

Canna's illuftrious fight, and fam'd Pharfalia's field,

II.

In the short course of a diurnal fun

Behold the work of many ages done!

What verse such worth can raife?

120

Luftre and life the poet's art

To middle virtue may impart;

But deeds fublime, exalted high, like thefe,

125

Tranfcendhisutmofflight, and mock hisdiftantpraife,

III.

Still would the willing Muse aspire,
With transport still her ftrains prolong,
But fear unftrings the trembling lyre,

And admiration ftops her fong.

130

Go on, great Chief! in Anna's caufe proceed,

Rewards even worthy of thy toils,

Thy Queen's juft favour, and thy country's love. 140

5

T

H

C

To the Right Hon.

THE EARL OF GODOLPHIN,

'LORD HIGH-TREASURER OF GREAT BRITAIN.

Quemvis media erue turba:

Aut ob avaritiam, aut misera ambitione laborat.
Hunc capit argenti fplendor-

Hic mutat merces furgente a fole, ad eum quo
Vefpertina tepet regio: quin per mala præceps
Fertur--

Omnes hi metuunt verfus, odere poetas.

ODE.

1.

HOR. Lib. i. Sat. 4.

To hazardous attempts and hardy toils

Ambition fome excites,

And fome defire of martial spoils

To bloody fields invites;

Others infatiate thirst of gain

Provokes to tempt the dang'rous main,

To pass the burning line, and bear

Th' inclemency of winds, and feas, and air,
Preffing the doubtful voyage till India's fhore

5

Her spicy bofom bares, and spreads her shining ore. 10

Nor widows' tears, nor tender orphans' cries,

Can stop th' invader's force;

F

Nor fwelling feas, nor threat'ning skies,
Prevent the pirate's course :

Their lives to felfifh ends decreed,

Thro' blood or rapine they proceed;

No anxious thoughts of ill-repute

Sufpend th' impetuous and unjust purfuit;

But pow'r and wealth obtain'd, guilty and great, Their fellow-creatures' fears they raife, or urge their

III.

But not for these his iv'ry lyre

Will tuneful Phoebus ftring,

Nor Polyhymnia, crown'd amid the choir,
Th' immortal epode fing.

[hate.

21

Thy fprings, Caftalia! turn their streams afide
From rapine, avarice, and pride;

25

Nor do thy greens, fhady Aönia! grow

To bind with wreaths a tyrant's brow.

I

How juft, most mighty Jove! yet how fevere

To guilty hearts afford no kind relief,

But add inflaming rage and more afflicting grief.