Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

To vindicate an injur'd patriot's name,
And from the blast of envy guard his fame;
For this each honest muse should prune her wing,
And teach our bards heroic worth to sing:
Nor longer prostitute their venal lines
To varnish o'er a Sylla's dark designs;
To flatter statesmen in their fulsome lays,
Like Gazetteers their wond'rous conduct praise,
Make war's dire conflicts cease at their command,
And peaceful olives grace each happy land.

Far from such sordid arts the muses strive
To make a British hero's fame survive,

Great Peterborough's glory to recite,
To set his merit in a blaze of light,
Too long conceal'd in thickest clouds of night.
Here fiction need not seek for fancy's aid,
Nor call with rapture on Pierian maid;
In truth's plain dress great actions brightest shine,
Nor borrow lustre from an artful line.

When France aspiring to extend her sway,
And make the vassal world her laws obey,
Projected schemes, in an ill-omen'd hour,
To gain her monarch universal pow'r;
To fix the crown of Spain on Lewis' head,
And make all Europe his ambition dread:
(Designs, like these, the Bourbon race inspire,
And monarchy becomes their sole desire.)

The love of pleasure and inglorious ease,
The court of Venus could no longer please;
Bellona's rage their ardent thoughts employ,
And make their bosoms glow with horrid joy.
Now swift-wing'd Fame, attended by Report,
Declar'd their schemes to the Iberian court.
Struck with amazement at the fatal news,
Charles trembled at their vast unbounded views;
Revolv'd within his mind the dire event,
And to the camp disclos'd their bold intent.
Thro' all his realms a panic fear was spread;
And horror smil'd to see the nation's dread.

Now Charles in solemn council held debate
Against the pride of France to guard the state.

Each, with a noble thirst of glory fir'd,
To have the conduct of the war requir'd;
Their naked breasts expos'd to public sight,
Show'd the rough scars receiv'd in open fight:
Till thus he spoke, ‘Let emulation cease,
‘And reason each aspiring thought appease!
‘You seem to thirst for glory, not for blood,
‘Preferring honours to your country's good:
‘Have you forgotten Peterborough's care,
‘His conduct in the Barcelona war?
‘By what nice stratagem the fort was won,
‘When such superior force possess'd the town!
‘Ingratitude would brand the crown of Spain,
‘Did not he lead our army to the plain:
‘France has already felt his dire alarms,
‘Sure vengeance follows his destructive arms,

‘Death, rage, and slaughter wait on his command,
‘And crouch for fell employment from his hand.’

Each Spaniard, conscious of superior worth,
Declin'd the leading of their army forth,
To Peterborough's care the task resign'd,
To crush ambition by the Gods design'd.
Their choice confirm'd, ambassadors were sent
To Mordaunt, to reveal the King's intent,
‘That the late armies whom he thought subdu'd,
‘And with unweary'd diligence pursu'd,
‘Rally'd their scatter'd forces in the flight,
‘And burn'd impatient for a second fight.’
Encamp'd before Mattheo's walls, the foe
Threaten'd to lay her haughty turrets low;

To vanquish'd slaves no quarter to afford,
But give them up to the destructive sword.
Great Peterborough's soul was mov'd with grief,
And vow'd with utmost speed to bring relief;
Already touch'd with pity seem'd to hear
The orphan's cry, and mourn each widow's tear.

No thirst of fond ambition to be great,
To swell in pomp, and shine a wretch in state,
Rous'd him to arms, or drew him to the field:
But to make each invasive tyrant yield;
To save the weak from the oppressor's force,
And let impartial justice take her course.
When generous motives such a hero move,
The welfare of mankind his actions prove;

Contending nations join in his applause,
Whose glorious deeds support the common cause.

When dangers threaten, and impending fate
Charg'd with destruction, hovers o'er a state,
'Tis then the godlike qualities, that form
A hero, struggle with the rising storm:
In peace a N---s rides in Neptune' car,
But Vernon guides the thunder of the war.

Thus when rebellion rear'd her impious head,
The sport of France and Rome, the nation's dread,
Our Generals abash'd, no longer stood
Before these sons of rapine bath'd in blood;
Till the brave genius of our isle arose
To check the rapid progress of our foes;

To drive these upstart warriors from the land,
Who fled before the youth's victorious hand:
But, when they breathe again their native air,
Their drooping hopes revive from dark despair;
Their scatter'd forces, near the banks of Spey,
Resolve to stand the fortune of the day,
Where mighty Cumberland, ordain'd by fate
To scourge rebellion, and preserve the state,
Swift thro' their thickest ranks like lightning flew,
And vanquish'd with his arms the rebel crew.

Thus England, rescu'd from the foulest shame
That ever tainted her victorious name,
With loud repeated shouts resounds his praise,
Whose valour could her sinking glory raise;

Applauding senates show their just regard,
And with rich gifts his blooming worth reward.

What anxious cares revolve within his breast
To raise the weak, and succour the distress'd?
His firm associates pensive round him wait
To hold on liberty's dear cause debate.
When thus great Peterborough silence broke,
‘Iberia shudders at the Gallic yoke,
‘Before Matthéo's walls aspiring France
‘With fresh recruited troops their arms advance;
‘And should that town surrender (dreadful thought)
‘Or by their swords be to submission brought,

‘How would that conquest further their design,
‘And cloud the glory of the Austrian line?
‘As floods, let loose from their determin'd bound,
‘With deluges the fertile fields surround;
‘So would their forces, rushing o'er the plain,
‘Extend their conquest thro' the realms of Spain.
‘By force, our army never can oppose
‘The pow'rs that strengthen our united foes;
‘Their crouded legions cover all the strand,
‘And strike a sudden terror o'er the land:
‘Affrighted nations dread extended sway,
‘For fear their kingdoms should become a prey.
‘To stop the torrent of this rapid flood,
‘E'en envy would confess a public good:
‘What then remains, but stratagems to try,
‘And not upon our army's strength rely?

‘Matthéo's walls with dismal cries abound,
‘And fell despair reverberates the sound;
‘Bereft of hope, their gates expanded wide
‘Will yield a passage to the hostile tide,
‘Unless our couriers can the town persuade
‘To wait in firm expectance of our aid.’
Assembled warriors his designs approve,
And bless the counsel of the man they love.

Now couriers, swift in speed as rapid fire,
With chearful hopes their fainting souls inspire,
Who spread among their troops a false report,
That to his standard strong allies resort,
And the next dawn of morning would disclose
Numbers superior to his vaunting foes.

Soon as the sun, from his meridian height
Declining, left his empire to the night,
Our army marches on with silent pace
Thro' sable darkness to the destin'd place:
Within Traguera's walls his forces lay,
Big with expectance of approaching day.

Great Peterborough scorn'd inglorious rest,
While bold invaders all the land infest;
The dire event of war His mind employs,
Averse to pleasure and its fleeting joys.
The hardy soldiers, spent with rugged toil,
In golden dreams enjoy the wish'd-for spoil.

Soon as the morn in purple dawn arose,
Each warrior started from his soft repose;

His valiant troops, in martial pomp array'd,
Their ensigns to the adverse host display'd.
With horror struck, They scarce believe their eyes,
Unmanly fears in every breast arise;
And thus the Gallic Chief his troops bespoke:
‘How shall we ward this unexpected stroke?
‘Curse on the Spanish monarch's shrewd design
‘To chuse a hero from the British line,
‘Whose conduct artful stratagems can frame,
‘And with determin'd sword observance claim!
‘Should we, like the rebellious sons of Jove,
‘(Who rose in arms against the pow'rs above)
‘Presume the thunder of the foe to stand,
‘While under Peterborough's brave command?
‘What fortune could the boldest think to share,
‘But death, destruction, horror, or despair?

‘Then let us fly from this impending blow,
‘Nor glut with slaughter the devouring foe!’
Confed'rate hosts approve his fears, and fly
Swift as Jove's lightning darting thro' the sky;
Fear gave them wings: by cowardice betray'd,
They seek in distant regions further aid.

Great Peterborough's soul disdain'd to own
An easy conquest without slaughter won.
His murm'ring soldiers curse their dastard host,
To have the glory of the battle lost.
Matthéo's walls with thund'ring cannons roar;
No sad complaints their wretched state deplore;
Exulting joy sits smiling in each face,
Despair and meagre famine fly the place;

Congratulating crouds the victor meet,
And prostrate fall before the hero's feet;
Their eyes, o'erflowing with a generous tear,
The guardian of their liberties revere.

While joyful acclamations rend the skies,
And Spain on Peterborough's care relies,
Advice arrives, that other cities dread
The common foe, and wish him at their head;
That Anjou's forces laid the country waste,
Their churches raz'd, and images defac'd;
Whose oath decreed the Bourbon line should reign,
And Charles in exile mourn his conquer'd Spain;
That a dark gloom of horror seizes all,
And France's slaughter'd sons for vengeance call;

That Catalonia saw their troops from far,
And trembled at the distant din of war.

So when our English fleet has plow'd the main,
The product of some foreign clime to gain,
With riches fraught, in sight of harbour sails,
Their canvas wings distent with happy gales;
The billows roar, and sudden storms arise;
Thick clouds of darkness spread before their eyes;
They view, with longing hopes, the neighb'ring strand,
And fear a shipwreck in the sight of land.
Great Peterborough's soul by danger try'd,
Not on his numbers, but his cause rely'd;
Summon'd a council, and with steady thought,
What conduct should be follow'd, wisely sought.

Some in debate with earnest zeal declare
Valencia, for the bloody scene of war;
While others Catalonia's fate deplore,
Which conquest would increase their growing pow'r.
Thus various sentiments their hearts divide,
But Peterborough's thoughts their actions guide:
When thus the hero spoke, ‘Your monarch's life
‘Demands our presence, and concludes the strife;
‘If my resolve determine the debate,
‘We should assist the Catalonian state:
‘Report confirms, that, by the close of night,
‘To Nules the vanquish'd urg'd their rapid flight,
‘Which disaffected town receives those slaves,
‘And Gallic troops from English fury saves;
‘Scorns to be subject to your Austrian liege,
‘Well fortify'd to stand a vigorous siege:

‘Should our strong engines, like Jove's thunder, make
‘Their turrets from their firm foundations shake,
‘Numbers superior to our troops remain
‘To stand an open battle on the plain:
‘Yet Nules we must with violence assail,
‘And lay their turrets equal with the vale.
‘Perhaps these sons of war, with swift-wing'd flight
‘Who shunn'd the danger of a glorious fight,
‘Curs'd from their birth with an aspiring mind,
‘By nature slaves to tyranny design'd!
‘Who bear war's rugged discipline and toil,
‘Not for the hopes of liberty,—but spoil;
‘When they behold our troops in just array
‘Against the walls intrepid urge their way,

‘Life blasted with contempt may sooner chuse,
‘Than dare to prosecute ambition's views.’
Tho' some the rashness of his counsel blame,
Yet more with shouts their loud assent proclaim;
Nor did his bold conjectures prove in vain.
Soon as his army glitter'd on the plain,
Their dastard forces left the trembling town,
And all alliances with Nules disown.
But what did this avail? Their strengthen'd tow'rs
Could stand secure against united pow'rs.
What then remains? With long fatigues o'ercome,
His soldiers, wishing for their native home,
In moving terms with earnest zeal implore,
To view with longing eyes the British shore.
Firm to his purpose, Peterborough thought,
That conquest with his blood was cheaply bought;

Collected in himself, resolv'd alone
By a bold stratagem to gain the town;
Then to their gates like war's intrepid God,
Secure of fate, in martial pomp he rode.

The foe, astonish'd at the bold design,
Shudder'd with fear, nor dar'd to pass the line:
When thus the godlike hero silence broke,
And to their frighten'd host in thunder spoke:
‘Inhabitants of this defenceless town,
‘Who build your safety on a false renown,
‘Let not my troops for an admission wait:
‘Within six minutes ope the city gate!
‘Else, at the dreadful period of that time,
‘Destructive vengeance shall o'ertake your crime.

Selected priests unfold the dismal tale,
And sudden fears o'er reason's pow'r prevail;
Alternate passions in their bosoms rise,
And floods of tears run gushing from their eyes:
When thus their chief determin'd, ‘'Tis too late
‘To check his conquests, or support our state;
‘Then swift as thought the tenfold barrier burst,
‘And let us to the victor's mercy trust.’

Now all their gates expanded wide behold,
As if their magistrates the city sold.
In awful pomp their pensive forces stand,
And beg him not to sacrifice the land,
Like vanquish'd senators of ancient Rome,
When the proud victor spoke their fatal doom.

Touch'd with compassion at the moving sight,
He rais'd the suppliant, did the orphan right;
To brutal lust no virgin fell a prey,
No soldiers plunder'd with a tyrant's sway;
But all their hero's bright example take,
And the sad captives joyful subjects make.

How with so weak an army to maintain
The conquests, which his stratagems obtain,
Requir'd e'en Peterborough's utmost care
To prove successful in a future war.
By his command such false reports were spread,
That thousands were pursuing those that fled:
Thus by his conduct, and intrepid law,
Almost alone he kept the world in awe.

But now reflecting in his anxious mind,
How many various toils remain behind;
His harrass'd troops with labour worn away,
Without supplies, his cavalry's decay:
Necessities like these demand relief,
And break the slumbers of our anxious chief.

Yet, by his happy conduct in a town,
Which scarcely did the victor's triumph own,
He form'd a cavalry, then march'd away,
To meet some forces which at distance lay.
His officers on Oropesa's plain
Had long expected his return in vain,
When from afar their longing eyes behold
Their much-lov'd hero clad in burnish'd gold;

Reviving hopes their drooping spirits warm,
And distant dangers have the pow'r to charm:
As he approach'd, they ran with eager pace
To clasp their general in a close embrace;
With joy reciprocal their bosoms beat;
For absence makes the pleasure more compleat.

But now severer thoughts the chief engage
To guard Valencia from their hostile rage:
Saguntum's walls his destin'd march oppose,
The strongest bulwark of his vanquish'd foes;
Before its feet the foaming surges roar,
And Neptune with his trident guards the shore,
With mountains on each side encompass'd round,
Which fortify the city like a mound:

These must be pass'd, and with incessant pain
The soldiers strive the steep ascent to gain.
One stratagem remains to speed his course,
Which may supply the want of hostile force.

The swiftest couriers by command were sent
To seek Mahoni at his royal tent,
To whisper in his ear, the victor thought
That peace might flourish without battles fought,
If both should on parole of honour meet,
And of the public welfare fairly treat.

The terms accepted, at the place assign'd
They meet, by sacred laws of nations join'd:
When thus great Peterborough spoke, ‘No more
‘Let slaughter bathe her hands in human gore!

‘But let us chuse some gentler means to save
‘Our hardy legions from the dreary grave!
‘We come not to plunge nations in despair,
‘But, like a storm, to purge infected air.
‘Should you resist, and in a bold design
‘Think your troops able to encounter mine,
‘No laws of friendship could preserve the town;
‘Your rashness makes the bloody deed your own.
‘Have you forgotten, when your army fought
‘With some success, and conquest dearly bought?
‘With what a waste of death they strow'd the plain,
‘While cruelty drove on with loosen'd rein:
‘Then yield a passage! lest your soldiers feel
‘The bloody wounds of our avenging steel.’

When thus Mahoni spoke, ‘Illustrious peer!
‘'Tis not in menaces to make us fear:
‘We own thy great exploits, and, tho' our stars
‘Have doom'd us not confed'rates in the wars,
‘Still, by a sympathy of souls divine,
‘My reason must applaud thy great design,
‘To strive to make contending nations cease,
‘And fix mankind in honourable peace:
‘But what would the malicious world report?
‘My name must stand the censure of a court,
‘Where servile slaves in mean dependance wait
‘To blast the rising merit of the great:
‘But let impartial justice hold the scale,
‘Should I resist, your forces must prevail;
‘When night has to her sable noon arose,
‘Your pow'rs may pass, nor shall my troops oppose.

‘Thus prudence bids me sacrifice my fame,
‘And for my country's service suffer shame.’

Thus, by the nicer conduct of the brain,
He gain'd a passage to Valencia's plain.
What ardent transports in their bosoms glow'd,
When they beheld from far their guardian God?
Joyful as angels when by fiends dismay'd
The great Messiah thunder'd to their aid.
E'en stern ecclesiasticks laid aside
(To welcome him) their ruling passion, pride;
Gaz'd on his form, in admiration lost,
And strove with zeal who should applaud him most.

Thus by his conduct, and incessant toil,
He reap'd the victory without the spoil:

The house of Austria seated on a throne
By conquests, which a British subject won.
Great is his glory, greater England's shame,
To blast with censure that illustrious name.
While crouds revile (mean refuse of a court)
The guardian of their laws, their chief support:
When merit finds from princes no regard,
'Tis then that virtue is its own reward.

May some auspicious bard arise to save
Those great exploits from time's eternal grave!
When Barcelona rung with loud alarms,
And felt the force of his victorious arms;
A city deem'd impregnable by all
Till the astonish'd world beheld her fall.

But pining envy, sick to hear his praise,
Strove by false tales to blast his spreading bays.
Still by mean arts each action was defam'd,
His merit lessen'd, and his conduct blam'd.

But should all poetry with Pope expire,
And none presume to touch the sacred lyre,
These servile times no glorious deeds produce,
Worthy the fame of an immortal muse:
Ambassadors are sent, and treaties made,
Arm'd squadrons fitted out, and pensions paid;
Pacific armies bluster thro' the land,
And admirals,—to keep the peace,—command;

Tho' nations hale us Neptune of the sea,
Yet Spain like Æolus usurps the sway.
But such the spirit of the laureat's odes,
His glowing lines can make mere mortals Gods:
Sound thro' the world Britannia's high renown,
And make France tremble if our Cæsar frown.

How hard a fate to sacrifice thy blood,
O Peterborough, for the public good!
To bear the toils of war in foreign climes,
And when return'd,—to stand the charge of crimes!
But, while old England's genius rears her head,
Still shall you strike in distant nations dread.
Those honours you deserve, let others claim!
Posterity will bless your glorious name,
And future times reward your injur'd fame.

Soon after the battle of Culloden, which was the sixteenth of April, 1746, the parliament gave an additional sum of twenty-five thousand a year to the Duke, for his signal service in extirpating the rebellion.

Now called Molviedro.

The kingdom of Valencia.

With so small a force.

These lines were writ some years ago, when the nation severely felt the truth of them, notwithstanding the poem appears to be of a later date by some passages since inserted.