As when by Raphael's or by Kneller's hands
A warlike courfer on the canvass stands,
Such as on Landen bleeding Ormond bore,
Or fet young Ammon on the Granick fhore,
If chance a gen'rous steed the work behold,
He fuorts, he neighs, he champs the foamy golds
So Hocktet feen tumult'ous paffions roll,
And hints of glory fire the Briton's foul,
In fancy'd fights he fees the troops engage,
And all the tempeft of the battle rage.
Charm me, ye Pow'rs! with scenes less nobly bright;
Far humbler thoughts th' inglorious Mufe delight,
Content to fee the honours of the field
By ploughfhares levell'd or in flow'rs conceal'd.
O'er fhatter'd walls may creeping ivy twine,
And grafs luxuriant clothe the harmlefs mine;
Tame flocks afcend the breach without a wound,
the bastion, now a fruitful ground,
While fhepherds fleep along the rampart laid,
Or pipe beneath the formidable fhade.
Who was the man, oblivion blast his name, Torn out and blotted from the lift of Fame! Who fond of lawlefs rule and proudly brave First funk the filial fubject to a flave,
His neighbours' realms by frauds unkingly gain'd, In guiltless blood the sacred ermine stain’d,
Laid schemes for death, to flaughter turn'd his heart, And fitted murder to the rules of art?
Ah! curft Ambition! to thy lurés we owe
All the great ills that mortals bear below;
Curft by the hind when to the spoil he yields
His year's whole sweat and vainly ripen'd fields;
Curft by the maid torn from her lover's fide
When left a widow tho' not yet a bride;
By mothers curft when floods of tears they shed,
And fcatter ufclefs rofes 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 focs
In vain the marble breathes the canvass glows;
To fhades obfcure the glitt'ring sword purfues
The gentle poet and defenceless Mufe:
A voice like thine alone might then affuage
The warriour's fury and control his rage;
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 fhore
The drum's harsh mufick and the cannon's roar. 130
Let grim Bellona haunt the lawless plain
Where Tartar clans and grifly Coffacks reign;
Let the feel'd Turk be deaf to matrons' cries,
See virgins ravifh'd with relentless eyes,
To death grey heads and smiling infants doom, 135
Nor fpare 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 fcales the rival kings:
Her gen'rous fons in choicest 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 fprings,
With fmiles fhe fees the threat'ning billows rise,
Spreads fmooth the furge and clears the lowring skies,
Light o'er the deep,withflutt'ringCupids crown'd,
The pearly conch and filver turtles bound,
Her treffes fhed ambrofial odours round.
Amidft the world of waves fo ftands ferene Britannia's ifle, the Ocean's stately queen! In vain the nations have confpir'd her fall, Her trench the fea, and fleets her floating wall: 155 Defenceless barks, her pow'rful navy near, Have only waves and hurricanes to fear. What bold invader or what land oppreft Hath not her anger quell'd, her aid redrest! Say where have e'er her Union Croffes fail'd But much her arms her justice more prevail'd! Her labours are to plead th' Almighty's caufe, Her pride to teach th' untam'd Barbarian laws. Who conquers wins by brutal ftrength the prize, But it is a godlike work to civilize.
Have we forgot how from great Ruffia's throne The king whofe pow'r half Europe's regions own,
Whofe fceptre waving with one shout rush forth
In fwarms the harnefs'd millions of the north,
'Thro' realms of ice purfu'd his tedious way
To court our friendship and our fame survey!
Hence the rich prize of useful arts he bore,
And round his empire spread the learned store :
(T' adorn old realm's is more than new to raise;
His country's parent is a monarch's praise.)
His bands now march in just array to war,
And Cafpian gulfs unufual navies bear;
With Runick lays Smolenko's forefts ring,
And wond'ring Volga hears the Mufes fing.
Did not the painted kings of India greet
Our Queen, and lay their fceptres at her feet?
Chiefs who full bowls of hostile blood had quafft,
Fam'd for the jav'lin and envenom'd shaft,
Whose haughty brows made favages adore,
Nor bow'd to lefs than stars or fun before.
Her pitying fmile accepts their fuppliant claim,
And adds four monarchs to the Chriftian name.
Bleft ufe of pow'r! O virtuous pride in kings! And like his bounty whence dominion springs! 189 Which o'er new worlds makes Heav'n's indulgence And ranges myriads under laws divine! [fhine, Well bought with all that thofe sweet regions hold, With groves of fpices and with mines of gold.
Fearless our merchant now pursues his gain, And roams fecurely o'er the boundlefs main.
Now o'er his head the polar Bear he fpies,
And freezing spangles of the Lapland skies;
Now fwells his canvafs to the fultry line,
With glitt'ring spoils where Indian grottoes shine,
Where fumes of incenfe glad the fouthern feas, zod
And wafted citron fcents the balmy breeze.
Here nearer funs prepare the rip'ning gem
To grace great Anne's imperial diadem;
And here the ore whofe melted mafs fhall yield
On faithful coins each memorable field,
Which mix'd with medals of immortal Rome
May clear disputes and teach the times to come.
In circling beams fhall godlike Anna glow,
And Churchill's fword hang o'er the proftrate foe;
In comely wounds fhall bleeding worthies ftand, 250
Webb's firm platoon and Lumley's faithful band;
Bold Mordaunt in Iberian trophies dreft,
And Campbell's Dragon on his dauntless breast;
Great Ormond's deeds on Vigo's fpoils enroll'd,
And Guifcard's knife on Harley's Chili gold:
And if the Mufe, O Bristol! might decree,
Here Granville noted by the lyre should be,
The lyre for Granville and the cross for thee.
Such are the honours grateful Britain pays,
So patriots merit, and so monarchs praise :
O'er diftant times fuch records fhall prevail
When English numbers antiquated fail:
A trifling fong the Mufe can only yield,
And footh her foldiers panting from the field;
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