The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted ... Now First Collected. With Historical Notes, And Biographical Memoirs of the Author, by John Nichols |
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A POEM, occasioned by the late Famous
Victory of Audenarde.
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 | The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted |  |
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A POEM, occasioned by the late Famous Victory of Audenarde.
Humbly inscribed to the Hon. ROBERT HARLEY, 1709.
“Salve, magna parens frugum, Britannica tellus,
“Magna virûm: tibi res antiquæ laudis & artis
“Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.”
Virg. Georg. ii. 173.
“Magna virûm: tibi res antiquæ laudis & artis
“Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.”
Virg. Georg. ii. 173.
All hail, Saturnian soil! hail, parent great
Of fruits and mighty men! my lays repeat
For thee this argument of ancient art,
These useful toils, rever'd of old, impart:
For thee, I dare unlock the sacred spring,
And through the Roman streets Ascrean numbers sing.
Warton.
Of fruits and mighty men! my lays repeat
For thee this argument of ancient art,
These useful toils, rever'd of old, impart:
For thee, I dare unlock the sacred spring,
And through the Roman streets Ascrean numbers sing.
Warton.
O For that heavenly Voice, that pierc'd so high,
As bore Eliza to her native sky!
Or that no less renowned Bard's, whose tongue
With accents all divine, with musick hung,
Immortal Boyne, and Nassau's glory sung!
O that my feeble echo I could raise,
To the high pitch of their eternal lays!
But let not all presumptuously pursue
What is so sacred, and reveal'd to few.
Strong must the plume, and daring be the flight,
That would attempt to reach that wond'rous height:
True genuine blood must the young eagle grace,
Who stands the sun, and braves his fiery face.
As bore Eliza to her native sky!
Or that no less renowned Bard's, whose tongue
With accents all divine, with musick hung,
Immortal Boyne, and Nassau's glory sung!
O that my feeble echo I could raise,
To the high pitch of their eternal lays!
But let not all presumptuously pursue
What is so sacred, and reveal'd to few.
Strong must the plume, and daring be the flight,
That would attempt to reach that wond'rous height:
True genuine blood must the young eagle grace,
Who stands the sun, and braves his fiery face.
Yet, since exalted worth may so prevail,
As to create a Muse, though Nature fail;
Since, if these lines to future ages last,
The Poet, not the Hero, is disgrac'd;
They'll only weep, to see great Philip's Son
Dress'd up again to Chærilus's tune.
As to create a Muse, though Nature fail;
Since, if these lines to future ages last,
The Poet, not the Hero, is disgrac'd;
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Dress'd up again to Chærilus's tune.
Her meanest Son then let not Britain blame,
Who would commend his country's praise to fame,
Her prowess and her generous might record,
In the fair actions of this valiant Lord.
How swiftly the wing'd Warrior takes his way,
To reach the Foe, and seize the flying prey!
How, like a breaking cloud, portending ire,
With thunder charg'd, impregnated with fire,
He darts through all their files. Despair and Fear
Hang on their flight, and hover o'er their rear.
How Lewis, inscious of his glory lost,
Sees not the fatal blow that Bruges cost;
Reckons to what vast profit Ghent amounts,
With haughty pomp his little gain recounts:
Dilates his heart, his swelling pride displays,
Then loudly calls lost Flanders his, and says:
Who would commend his country's praise to fame,
Her prowess and her generous might record,
In the fair actions of this valiant Lord.
How swiftly the wing'd Warrior takes his way,
To reach the Foe, and seize the flying prey!
How, like a breaking cloud, portending ire,
With thunder charg'd, impregnated with fire,
He darts through all their files. Despair and Fear
Hang on their flight, and hover o'er their rear.
How Lewis, inscious of his glory lost,
Sees not the fatal blow that Bruges cost;
Reckons to what vast profit Ghent amounts,
With haughty pomp his little gain recounts:
Dilates his heart, his swelling pride displays,
Then loudly calls lost Flanders his, and says:
“Welcome, thou earnest of succeeding bliss,
“Of days more happy, more august than this.
“Fortune, I find, repents her foolish flight,
“And would atone for having been so light.
“She, who my youth with constancy did bless,
“And tickled sweet Ambition with success;
“Who swell'd my lordly hopes, with equal pride,
“Lavishly good, and partial to my side;
“Though once the Wanderer (senseless as she was)
“Mock'd expectation, and deny'd my cause;
“Yet now grows kinder, courts me, and appears
“Just to my later and declining years.
“Stay then, light Goddess, stay.—Hah!—what news now?
“Is Audenarde, at last, invested too?
“Spain, thou art mine, though sought with War alarms;
“Thee, Flanders, will I grasp within my arms.
“Tremble, thou Northern Heresy, and dread
“The fatal ruin hanging o'er thy head:
“I'll shake thee, sure; and, for that Female Thing,
“Set up my own, my Tributary King!”
“Of days more happy, more august than this.
“Fortune, I find, repents her foolish flight,
“And would atone for having been so light.
“She, who my youth with constancy did bless,
“And tickled sweet Ambition with success;
“Who swell'd my lordly hopes, with equal pride,
“Lavishly good, and partial to my side;
“Though once the Wanderer (senseless as she was)
“Mock'd expectation, and deny'd my cause;
“Yet now grows kinder, courts me, and appears
“Just to my later and declining years.
“Stay then, light Goddess, stay.—Hah!—what news now?
“Is Audenarde, at last, invested too?
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“Thee, Flanders, will I grasp within my arms.
“Tremble, thou Northern Heresy, and dread
“The fatal ruin hanging o'er thy head:
“I'll shake thee, sure; and, for that Female Thing,
“Set up my own, my Tributary King!”
Idle, fantastic rage, delusion all!
The Monarch in his gaudy dream must fall:
For Britain's Chief the little arts disowns,
Of stealing castles, or surprizing towns;
Such abject purposes his soul disdains,
By arms he conquers, and by force he gains;
Flies, like some mighty Minister of Fate,
These to pull down, and those to reinstate;
Right to establish, Justice to decree,
To vanquish, and to set the vanquish'd free.
Like Consuls, who, with generous pity sway'd,
Spurn'd not the Vassal, which their arms had made;
Nor meanly did insult their captives' woes,
But made Free Citizens of conquer'd Foes.
Let France, for violating leagues renown'd,
France, to her promise never faithful found,
Let Her present inglorious actions fair,
And finely call them Stratagems of War.
Britain, 'tis thine to stride among the slain,
To shake the spear, and battle in the plain
The sword let others for ambition wield,
Or for the spoils and harvest of a field:
Let Interest urge on others to be brave,
To gain new conquests, or their old to save.
Britain, 'tis thine in fields of blood to toil,
And fight, that others may enjoy the spoil.
“These be thy arts,” and this thy lasting praise,
To scourge the insolent, the weak to raise;
To fly where-e'er wrong'd Justice calls aloud,
To aid the Injur'd, and fubdue the Proud.
And see the mighty Champion leads to fame,
With Victory and Fortune in his name;
He drives the hunted Gaul from place to place,
Hot in pursuit, and eager in the chace;
Bears on the flying foe in full career,
And shews that Vengeance is as swift as Fear.
So a fierce tiger in Numidia's plain,
Breathing out wrath, and boiling with disdain,
When some ignoble meaner beast he spies,
Dread in his looks, and lightning in his eyes,
With furious joy he starts, then shoots away,
At once secure and greedy of his prey.
The Monarch in his gaudy dream must fall:
For Britain's Chief the little arts disowns,
Of stealing castles, or surprizing towns;
Such abject purposes his soul disdains,
By arms he conquers, and by force he gains;
Flies, like some mighty Minister of Fate,
These to pull down, and those to reinstate;
Right to establish, Justice to decree,
To vanquish, and to set the vanquish'd free.
Like Consuls, who, with generous pity sway'd,
Spurn'd not the Vassal, which their arms had made;
Nor meanly did insult their captives' woes,
But made Free Citizens of conquer'd Foes.
Let France, for violating leagues renown'd,
France, to her promise never faithful found,
Let Her present inglorious actions fair,
And finely call them Stratagems of War.
Britain, 'tis thine to stride among the slain,
To shake the spear, and battle in the plain
The sword let others for ambition wield,
Or for the spoils and harvest of a field:
Let Interest urge on others to be brave,
To gain new conquests, or their old to save.
Britain, 'tis thine in fields of blood to toil,
And fight, that others may enjoy the spoil.
“These be thy arts,” and this thy lasting praise,
To scourge the insolent, the weak to raise;
To fly where-e'er wrong'd Justice calls aloud,
To aid the Injur'd, and fubdue the Proud.
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With Victory and Fortune in his name;
He drives the hunted Gaul from place to place,
Hot in pursuit, and eager in the chace;
Bears on the flying foe in full career,
And shews that Vengeance is as swift as Fear.
So a fierce tiger in Numidia's plain,
Breathing out wrath, and boiling with disdain,
When some ignoble meaner beast he spies,
Dread in his looks, and lightning in his eyes,
With furious joy he starts, then shoots away,
At once secure and greedy of his prey.
At length, with rude indignities o'erborn,
Vex'd with repeated marks of hostile scorn,
Like that low reptile, which, when proudly spurn'd,
Hath at reiterated insults turn'd;
The Gaul, his hosts drawn up in deep array,
Resolves to stand the shock, and bear the fray.
Arm'd with despair, from whence his courage grows,
Necessity instructs him to oppose,
To face the bold invader, and confront his foes.
So the swift stag, when the close chase draws near,
And thicker cries invade his trembling ear;
When heavily he pants along the mound,
And scarce, but scarce, eludes the doubtful wound;
Relies no longer on his winged speed,
But trusts his clashing beams, his armed head;
And, brandishing sublime his shady brow,
Was not so swift before as desperate now:
For, since he must become the hunter's prey,
He is resolv'd to fall a nobler way,
Turns furious on the chace, and stands at bay.
Vex'd with repeated marks of hostile scorn,
Like that low reptile, which, when proudly spurn'd,
Hath at reiterated insults turn'd;
The Gaul, his hosts drawn up in deep array,
Resolves to stand the shock, and bear the fray.
Arm'd with despair, from whence his courage grows,
Necessity instructs him to oppose,
To face the bold invader, and confront his foes.
So the swift stag, when the close chase draws near,
And thicker cries invade his trembling ear;
When heavily he pants along the mound,
And scarce, but scarce, eludes the doubtful wound;
Relies no longer on his winged speed,
But trusts his clashing beams, his armed head;
And, brandishing sublime his shady brow,
Was not so swift before as desperate now:
For, since he must become the hunter's prey,
He is resolv'd to fall a nobler way,
Turns furious on the chace, and stands at bay.
Now the stout Britons to the charge advance,
With the shrill clarion, and the trembling lance;
The wanton ensigns play, and all around
With glittering armour shines the waving ground.
Methinks I see in solemn pomp appear
The beauteous shape and figure of the war;
The decent order in each cohort seen,
And every haughty warrior's graceful mein;
The thick embattel'd squadrons in array,
Lovelily dreadful, and in horrour gay.
With the shrill clarion, and the trembling lance;
The wanton ensigns play, and all around
With glittering armour shines the waving ground.
Methinks I see in solemn pomp appear
The beauteous shape and figure of the war;
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And every haughty warrior's graceful mein;
The thick embattel'd squadrons in array,
Lovelily dreadful, and in horrour gay.
One of tall stature at the head appears,
Like a large bull his spacious front who rears
Amongst the herd, and lords it o'er the mead;
Majestical his eyes and princely head,
High, eminent, and all the ranks above,
Like Mars his posture, and his state like Jove.
Like a large bull his spacious front who rears
Amongst the herd, and lords it o'er the mead;
Majestical his eyes and princely head,
High, eminent, and all the ranks above,
Like Mars his posture, and his state like Jove.
The Hero's presence makes the Soldier glow,
And menace death and vengeance to the foe;
Each nod's tremendous, as the shock begins,
Each from the Gallic arms a trophy wins.
Like a fierce torrent with impetuous sway,
Through broken legions mowing out their way;
Slaughter and death around the field they spread,
And heap the dying on the numerous dead.
But lo! while horrour and confusion join,
And round each host their sable arms entwine,
Unchang'd in mind the valiant Leader stands,
Calmly distributing his wise commands;
Fix'd on his purpose, and his thought sedate,
His temper steady and unmov'd as Fate,
Like that he guides the war, and smiles to own
What he so soon determines, sooner done.
But if he finds the dubious battle veer,
As swift as thought he brings his thunder there,
And forces back the bias of the war;
Scatters around the host ten thousand fears,
And Terrour, like a Gorgon, on his crest appears.
So Jove, enthron'd in peaceful state above,
Serenely views this lower fabrick move;
Hears undisturb'd the boisterous winds engage,
Hears the rough ocean roar, and billows rage;
On the world's business is sedately bent,
And guides the most minute, or great event;
But, if mankind with impious rage revolt,
The Thunderer assumes his angry bolt,
With a loud voice comes rattling through the skies,
And deals almighty vengeance as he flies.
And menace death and vengeance to the foe;
Each nod's tremendous, as the shock begins,
Each from the Gallic arms a trophy wins.
Like a fierce torrent with impetuous sway,
Through broken legions mowing out their way;
Slaughter and death around the field they spread,
And heap the dying on the numerous dead.
But lo! while horrour and confusion join,
And round each host their sable arms entwine,
Unchang'd in mind the valiant Leader stands,
Calmly distributing his wise commands;
Fix'd on his purpose, and his thought sedate,
His temper steady and unmov'd as Fate,
Like that he guides the war, and smiles to own
What he so soon determines, sooner done.
But if he finds the dubious battle veer,
As swift as thought he brings his thunder there,
And forces back the bias of the war;
Scatters around the host ten thousand fears,
And Terrour, like a Gorgon, on his crest appears.
So Jove, enthron'd in peaceful state above,
Serenely views this lower fabrick move;
Hears undisturb'd the boisterous winds engage,
Hears the rough ocean roar, and billows rage;
On the world's business is sedately bent,
And guides the most minute, or great event;
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The Thunderer assumes his angry bolt,
With a loud voice comes rattling through the skies,
And deals almighty vengeance as he flies.
O! hadst thou in some former age been born,
The Greek or Roman Muses to adorn;
Had they beheld thy martial deeds of old,
What stories had been rais'd, what fables told!
How blue-eyed Pallas in your chariot rode;
A suit of armour given you by a God;
You'd been deriv'd from some high Dame above,
And could not have been less than Third from Jove.
The Greek or Roman Muses to adorn;
Had they beheld thy martial deeds of old,
What stories had been rais'd, what fables told!
How blue-eyed Pallas in your chariot rode;
A suit of armour given you by a God;
You'd been deriv'd from some high Dame above,
And could not have been less than Third from Jove.
The Princely Youth of Hanoverian line,
In whom his god-like Father's virtues shine,
Who chears Britannia with a distant ray,
Britannia's earliest hopes and dawning day,
Beholds with equal wonder and applause
Thy gallant actions, worthy of the cause
Which mov'd those actions first; urg'd on to fame,
His youthful breast is fir'd with rival flame.
Heroic thoughts within his bosom roll,
And his eyes speak the purpose of his soul.
Somewhat in danger lovely he descries,
Then like a falcon to the quarry flies,
Brisk and undaunted braves impendent doom,
Though young, and all his glory in the bloom;
Through crimson streams of blood pursues renown,
Though to an Empire born, and destin'd to a Throne.
In whom his god-like Father's virtues shine,
Who chears Britannia with a distant ray,
Britannia's earliest hopes and dawning day,
Beholds with equal wonder and applause
Thy gallant actions, worthy of the cause
Which mov'd those actions first; urg'd on to fame,
His youthful breast is fir'd with rival flame.
Heroic thoughts within his bosom roll,
And his eyes speak the purpose of his soul.
Somewhat in danger lovely he descries,
Then like a falcon to the quarry flies,
Brisk and undaunted braves impendent doom,
Though young, and all his glory in the bloom;
Through crimson streams of blood pursues renown,
Though to an Empire born, and destin'd to a Throne.
If the great deeds of Thetis' god-like Son,
So many years in long succession gone,
The Hero dead and moulder'd, could inspire
The seed of Ammon with so bright a fire;
If Homer's draughts could add to every blow
New strength, and make him lead his Persian foe
In captive pomp; well may Augustus feel
His youthful breast with love of glory swell:
Who no less deeds has always in his sight,
And views upon the plain as great a Warrior fight.
So many years in long succession gone,
The Hero dead and moulder'd, could inspire
The seed of Ammon with so bright a fire;
If Homer's draughts could add to every blow
New strength, and make him lead his Persian foe
In captive pomp; well may Augustus feel
His youthful breast with love of glory swell:
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And views upon the plain as great a Warrior fight.
I see my blooming Hero cover'd o'er
With comely dust, and richly clad in gore;
Involv'd in night, and battle's sable shroud;
As the bright sun envelop'd in a cloud.
Like nimble Mercury I see him move,
His feather'd plume shakes like a laurel grove,
While he rides stern and furious on the foe,
Rearing his arm, and bounding from the blow.
Such was young Harry, when, in early days,
From Hotspur's head he pluck'd the envy'd bays:
Equal in youth, and like in arms he stood,
And by his virtue prov'd his title good.
With comely dust, and richly clad in gore;
Involv'd in night, and battle's sable shroud;
As the bright sun envelop'd in a cloud.
Like nimble Mercury I see him move,
His feather'd plume shakes like a laurel grove,
While he rides stern and furious on the foe,
Rearing his arm, and bounding from the blow.
Such was young Harry, when, in early days,
From Hotspur's head he pluck'd the envy'd bays:
Equal in youth, and like in arms he stood,
And by his virtue prov'd his title good.
Mistaken Youth, thy flatter'd hopes bemoan,
Proudly adorn'd with titles not thy own.
No more expect to guide the promis'd helm,
That fancy'd kingdom, and that fairy realm;
Behold what laurels, in the Flandrian plains,
Thy great Competitor for Empire gains:
How in his looks the Sovereign's air he bears,
And in each act the royal stamp appears.
Or, if thou'rt bent upon delusion still,
Why wilt thou mimick majesty so ill?
If yet th' ideas round thy fancy play
Of power, dominion, and imperial sway;
Why court'st thou not War's terrible alarms,
To combat, and dispute thy right in arms?
Why dost thou not advance, and bravely dare
That youthful Champion to decisive war?
Thou didst not from our ancient Worthies spring,
Thou Royal Shade, thou lmage of a King!
Vain as thou art, like that fam'd Macedon,
Who bade the Priest declare him Ammon's Son.
To scorn thy earth-born Parent's mean abodes,
And claim the lineage of the British Gods.
Such Britain's Chief, such is the Royal Heir,
Who must Imperial Britain's sceptre bear:
Well then may struggling Gallia quit the field,
And well to such superior Virtue yield.
For what can weaker Tyranny oppose,
To British Freedom, and th' united Rose?
How can Oppression singly stem in fight
The force of Union, Liberty, and Right?
Tallard's ill stars on each new Leader wait,
And what was Villeroy's, is Vendosme's fate.
Proudly adorn'd with titles not thy own.
No more expect to guide the promis'd helm,
That fancy'd kingdom, and that fairy realm;
Behold what laurels, in the Flandrian plains,
Thy great Competitor for Empire gains:
How in his looks the Sovereign's air he bears,
And in each act the royal stamp appears.
Or, if thou'rt bent upon delusion still,
Why wilt thou mimick majesty so ill?
If yet th' ideas round thy fancy play
Of power, dominion, and imperial sway;
Why court'st thou not War's terrible alarms,
To combat, and dispute thy right in arms?
Why dost thou not advance, and bravely dare
That youthful Champion to decisive war?
Thou didst not from our ancient Worthies spring,
Thou Royal Shade, thou lmage of a King!
Vain as thou art, like that fam'd Macedon,
Who bade the Priest declare him Ammon's Son.
To scorn thy earth-born Parent's mean abodes,
And claim the lineage of the British Gods.
Such Britain's Chief, such is the Royal Heir,
Who must Imperial Britain's sceptre bear:
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And well to such superior Virtue yield.
For what can weaker Tyranny oppose,
To British Freedom, and th' united Rose?
How can Oppression singly stem in fight
The force of Union, Liberty, and Right?
Tallard's ill stars on each new Leader wait,
And what was Villeroy's, is Vendosme's fate.
No more let Fortune be arraign'd as blind,
Fickle as seas, inconstant as the wind:
No more let Poets prostitute her name,
To palliate error, and detract from fame.
With Virtue hand in hand the Goddess goes,
And bears the Brave triumphant on their Foes;
She sports with fools, and with the coward plays,
Stoops to the valiant, and the great obeys.
They with superior majesty command,
And teach the wavering Deity to stand.
Thus were great Cæsar and Gustavus rais'd,
Fortune on both with equal wonder gaz'd,
With constant favours did the heroes crown,
And they deserv'd her smile, but were above her frown.
Fickle as seas, inconstant as the wind:
No more let Poets prostitute her name,
To palliate error, and detract from fame.
With Virtue hand in hand the Goddess goes,
And bears the Brave triumphant on their Foes;
She sports with fools, and with the coward plays,
Stoops to the valiant, and the great obeys.
They with superior majesty command,
And teach the wavering Deity to stand.
Thus were great Cæsar and Gustavus rais'd,
Fortune on both with equal wonder gaz'd,
With constant favours did the heroes crown,
And they deserv'd her smile, but were above her frown.
In vain to arts great Bourbon has recourse,
And specious bribery, his usual force;
In vain he waves his shining gilded spear,
And plays the foolish sophister in war.
Not so the British Chief; with sword in hand
(Like brave Camillus in the Latian land,
When before Rome's high Capitol he came,
Demanding justice in his country's name),
He turns the balance in the Gallic scales,
Not glittering gold, but the keen steel prevails.
Thus shaken as she is, and worn with care,
Can France again her shatter'd force repair?
Will she not sink beneath the fatal blast,
And like a dying taper blaze her last?
Or will these lilies still look pale and mourn,
Yet with the summer brisk and gay return?
Will they ne'er fall, that do so often shake?
How can they always bend, and never break?
Shall Marlborough's sword still conquer as before?
And shall there still be room to conquer more?
And specious bribery, his usual force;
In vain he waves his shining gilded spear,
And plays the foolish sophister in war.
Not so the British Chief; with sword in hand
(Like brave Camillus in the Latian land,
When before Rome's high Capitol he came,
Demanding justice in his country's name),
He turns the balance in the Gallic scales,
Not glittering gold, but the keen steel prevails.
Thus shaken as she is, and worn with care,
Can France again her shatter'd force repair?
Will she not sink beneath the fatal blast,
And like a dying taper blaze her last?
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Yet with the summer brisk and gay return?
Will they ne'er fall, that do so often shake?
How can they always bend, and never break?
Shall Marlborough's sword still conquer as before?
And shall there still be room to conquer more?
Yes, still that Ornament of Virtue's name,
That mighty Favourite and Friend of Fame,
Shall, like great Cyrus, Heaven's immortal Son,
Go on successful, as he first begun;
Make haughty Gallia's proudest turrets bend,
And o'er the Continent his arms extend;
A suffering Monarch's injur'd cause maintain,
'Till he his Empire has, her Freedom Spain:
That, thus defeating France's vast designs,
We may not tremble with her Western mines;
That the new world no more may vex the old,
Nor Europe's Freedom shake with India's gold.
That mighty Favourite and Friend of Fame,
Shall, like great Cyrus, Heaven's immortal Son,
Go on successful, as he first begun;
Make haughty Gallia's proudest turrets bend,
And o'er the Continent his arms extend;
A suffering Monarch's injur'd cause maintain,
'Till he his Empire has, her Freedom Spain:
That, thus defeating France's vast designs,
We may not tremble with her Western mines;
That the new world no more may vex the old,
Nor Europe's Freedom shake with India's gold.
Then, when fair Liberty triumphant rides,
And sacred Justice o'er the world presides;
When smiling Plenty her gay trains shall spread,
And silken Peace erect her downy head;
The Victor (as of old the Latian hind,
That was Dictator, conquer'd and resign'd)
To those much-fam'd recesses shall retreat,
The mansion of the Muses, Chaucer's seat.
Thither the British Scipio shall retire,
Where once the British Ennius tun'd his lyre:
Who sung so well of war and martial deeds,
To his abodes the God of War succeeds;
That sacred monument of right restor'd,
Which Gloriana gave the British Lord;
Where Blenheim's ruins so augustly rise;
Her humble seat's translated to the skies.
And sacred Justice o'er the world presides;
When smiling Plenty her gay trains shall spread,
And silken Peace erect her downy head;
The Victor (as of old the Latian hind,
That was Dictator, conquer'd and resign'd)
To those much-fam'd recesses shall retreat,
The mansion of the Muses, Chaucer's seat.
Thither the British Scipio shall retire,
Where once the British Ennius tun'd his lyre:
Who sung so well of war and martial deeds,
To his abodes the God of War succeeds;
That sacred monument of right restor'd,
Which Gloriana gave the British Lord;
Where Blenheim's ruins so augustly rise;
Her humble seat's translated to the skies.
In the fair Palace shall be seen engrav'd
Kingdoms subdued and sinking Empires sav'd:
Here breathing Statues shall salute our eyes,
That boldly from the polish'd basis rise,
Triumphant figures, that at once proclaim
The Workman's skill, and the great Hero's fame:
There curious plans, with nice proportion true,
Shall offer to the pleas'd spectator's view
Each different scene and theatre of War:
Here Marlborough fought; the brave Eugenio there.
While, in each space elaborately fine,
Descriptions and illustrious mottoes shine;
Whate'er by th' Architect's device is wrought,
The Painter's fancy, or the Poet's thought.
Kingdoms subdued and sinking Empires sav'd:
Here breathing Statues shall salute our eyes,
That boldly from the polish'd basis rise,
13
The Workman's skill, and the great Hero's fame:
There curious plans, with nice proportion true,
Shall offer to the pleas'd spectator's view
Each different scene and theatre of War:
Here Marlborough fought; the brave Eugenio there.
While, in each space elaborately fine,
Descriptions and illustrious mottoes shine;
Whate'er by th' Architect's device is wrought,
The Painter's fancy, or the Poet's thought.
Strangers shall here, and travellers resort,
To see the beauties of this rural court,
And, ravish'd with delight, and struck with awe,
In miniature the lovely model draw;
That to each foreign land they may impart
Britain's politeness seen, in Vanbrugh's art.
To see the beauties of this rural court,
And, ravish'd with delight, and struck with awe,
In miniature the lovely model draw;
That to each foreign land they may impart
Britain's politeness seen, in Vanbrugh's art.
Near this my Muse a pleasing object sees,
A spacious Park adorn'd with aged trees;
Where, fall and spring, the deer, a stately crew,
Lose their old ornaments, and teem with new;
Proud, like unthinking man, and vainly gay,
With things that soon spring up, and soon decay.
The Victor here, his consort by his side,
With gold and glittering trappings deck'd shall ride.
Nimbly the Goddess shall divide the air,
And through the stag transfix her silver spear;
Which dying will confess the lucky chance,
And proudly fall by fair Diana's lance.
A spacious Park adorn'd with aged trees;
Where, fall and spring, the deer, a stately crew,
Lose their old ornaments, and teem with new;
Proud, like unthinking man, and vainly gay,
With things that soon spring up, and soon decay.
The Victor here, his consort by his side,
With gold and glittering trappings deck'd shall ride.
Nimbly the Goddess shall divide the air,
And through the stag transfix her silver spear;
Which dying will confess the lucky chance,
And proudly fall by fair Diana's lance.
Hard-by, a landskip sweet, a sylvan scene,
Cool artful grots and shady bowers are seen;
Through which the whistling vernal Zephyr breathes
An odorous smell, and tunes the trembling leaves.
The crystal streams in wild meanders run,
Glide through the grove, and murmur gently on;
While Flora spreads her fragrant sweets around,
And richly damasks the embroider'd ground;
With all we can desire of Eden's stream,
And all the Antients of Elysium dream.
Cool artful grots and shady bowers are seen;
Through which the whistling vernal Zephyr breathes
An odorous smell, and tunes the trembling leaves.
The crystal streams in wild meanders run,
Glide through the grove, and murmur gently on;
While Flora spreads her fragrant sweets around,
And richly damasks the embroider'd ground;
With all we can desire of Eden's stream,
And all the Antients of Elysium dream.
14
Here shall the Hero with himself confer,
Of State, of Politicks, of Peace, and War,
Of antient Prudence, nor sometimes forget
Great Henry's love, and Rosomonda's fate;
Her fate, who could a royal heart ensnare:
Beauteous indeed and young; yet happier far,
Had Nature not mistook, but form'd aright
Her mind more virtuous, or her eyes less bright.
How here the Monarch did his passion prove,
Lost in his guilty labyrinth of love;
How in that Charmer's mournful death was seen
The just revenge of his heroic Queen.
Then shall he bless that bright immortal Dame,
Whose equal beauty, but much fairer fame,
Crowns his chaste wishes, and adorns his flame.
Of State, of Politicks, of Peace, and War,
Of antient Prudence, nor sometimes forget
Great Henry's love, and Rosomonda's fate;
Her fate, who could a royal heart ensnare:
Beauteous indeed and young; yet happier far,
Had Nature not mistook, but form'd aright
Her mind more virtuous, or her eyes less bright.
How here the Monarch did his passion prove,
Lost in his guilty labyrinth of love;
How in that Charmer's mournful death was seen
The just revenge of his heroic Queen.
Then shall he bless that bright immortal Dame,
Whose equal beauty, but much fairer fame,
Crowns his chaste wishes, and adorns his flame.
Ye Goddesses, inhabiting the woods,
The hills, the fertile dales, and silver floods,
Mix flowers of various hue with nicest skill,
The rose, the violet, and daffodil;
A shady branch let old Sylvanus find,
The Victor's brow with sacred wreaths to bind;
With burnish'd fruit bestrew'd around his feet,
His wish'd arrival let Pomona greet.
And, Pan, prepare thy shriller notes to raise,
And tune thy oaken reed to Marlborough's praise:
For see, he comes, to beautify the glades,
And spend his peaceful days in rural shades;
Great Marlborough comes, whose ever-conquering hand
Brings peace and safety home to Albion's land,
Who, like the sun, upon your harvest shines,
Secures your plenty, and protects your shrines.
The hills, the fertile dales, and silver floods,
Mix flowers of various hue with nicest skill,
The rose, the violet, and daffodil;
A shady branch let old Sylvanus find,
The Victor's brow with sacred wreaths to bind;
With burnish'd fruit bestrew'd around his feet,
His wish'd arrival let Pomona greet.
And, Pan, prepare thy shriller notes to raise,
And tune thy oaken reed to Marlborough's praise:
For see, he comes, to beautify the glades,
And spend his peaceful days in rural shades;
Great Marlborough comes, whose ever-conquering hand
Brings peace and safety home to Albion's land,
Who, like the sun, upon your harvest shines,
Secures your plenty, and protects your shrines.
| The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted | |