ODE.

I.

DAughter of Memory, Immortal Muse,
Calliope; what Poet wilt thou chuse
Of ANNA's Name to Sing?
To whom wilt thou thy Fire impart,
Thy Lyre, thy Voice, and tuneful Art;
Whom raise Sublime on thy Aetherial Wing,
And Consecrate with Dews of thy Castalian Spring?

II.

Without thy Aid, the most aspiring Mind
Must flag beneath, to narrow Flights confin'd,
Striving to rise in vain:
Nor e'er can hope with equal Lays
To celebrate bright Virtue's Praise.
Thy Aid obtain'd, even I, the humblest Swain,
May climb Pierian Heights, and quit the lowly Plain.

III.

High in the Starry Orb is hung,
And next Alcides Guardian Arm,
That Harp to which thy Orpheus Sung,
Who Woods, and Rocks, and Winds cou'd Charm.
That Harp which on Cyllenes shady Hill,
When first the Vocal Shell was found,
With more than Mortal Skill
Inventer Hermes taught to sound.
Hermes on bright Latona's Son,
By sweet Persuasion won,
The wond'rous Work bestow'd;
Latona's Son, to thine
Indulgent, gave the Gift Divine:
A God the Gift, a God th' Invention show'd.

I.

To that high-sounding Lyre I tune my Strains;
A lower Note his Lofty Song disdains
Who Sings of ANNA's Name.
The Lyre is struck! the Sounds I hear!
O Muse, propitious to my Pray'r!
O well known Sounds! O Melody, the same
That kindled Mantuan Fire, and rais'd Maeonian Flame!

II.

Nor are these Sounds to British Bards unknown,
Or sparingly reveal'd to one alone:
Witness sweet Spencer's Lays
And witness that Immortal Song,
As Spencer sweet, as Milton strong,
Which humble Boyn o'er Tiber's Flood cou'd raise,
And mighty William Sing, with well-proportion'd Praise.

III.

Rise, Fair Augusta, lift thy Head,
With Golden Tow'rs thy Front adorn;
Come forth, as comes from Tithon's Bed
With chearful Ray the ruddy Morn.
Thy lovely Form, and fresh reviving State,
In Crystal Flood of Thames survey;
Then bless thy better Fate,
Bless ANNA's most Auspicious Sway.
While distant Realms and neighb'ring Lands,
Arm'd Troops and hostile Bands
On ev'ry Side molest,
Thy happier Clime is Free,
Fair CAPITAL of Liberty!
And Plenty knows, and Days of Halcyon Rest.

I.

As Britain's Isle, when old vex'd Ocean roars,
Unshaken sees against her Silver Shoars
His foaming Billows beat;
So Britain's QUEEN, amidst the Jars
And Tumults of a World in Wars,
Fix'd on the Base of Her well-founded State,
Serene and safe looks down, nor feels the Shocks of Fate.

II.

But Greatest Souls, tho' blest with sweet Repose,
Are soonest touch'd with Sense of others Woes.
Thus ANNA's mighty Mind,
To Mercy and soft Pity prone,
And mov'd with Sorrows not her own,
Has all her Peace and downy Rest resign'd,
To wake for Common Good, and succour Human-kind.

III.

Fly, Tyranny, no more be known
Within Europa's blissful Bound;
Far as th' unhabitable Zone
Fly ev'ry hospitable Ground.
To horrid Zembla's Frozen Realms repair;
There with the baleful Beldam, NIGHT,
Unpeopl'd Empire share,
And rob those Lands of Legal Right.
For now is come the promis'd Hour,
When Justice shall have Pow'r;
Justice to Earth restor'd!
Again Astrea Reigns!
ANNA Her equal Scale maintains,
And MARLBRÔ wields Her sure deciding Sword.

I.

Now could'st thou soar, my Muse, to Sing the MAN
In Heights sublime, as when the Mantuan Swan
Her tow'ring Pinions spred;
Thou should'st of MARLBRÔ Sing, whose Hand
Unerring from his QUEEN's Command,
Far as the Seven-mouth'd Ister's secret Head,
To save th' Imperial State, Her hardy Britons led.

II.

Nor there thy Song should end; tho' all the Nine
Might well their Harps and Heav'nly Voices join
To Sing that Glorious Day,
When Bold Bavaria fled the Field,
And Veteran Gauls unus'd to yield,
On Blenheim's Plain imploring Mercy lay;
And Spoils and Trophies won, perplex'd the Victors way.

III.

But cou'd thy Voice of Blenheim Sing,
And with Success that Song pursue;
What Art cou'd Aid thy weary Wing
To keep the Victor still in view?
For as the Sun ne'er stops his radiant Flight,
Nor Sets, but with impartial Ray
To all who want his Light
Alternately transfers the Day:
So in the Glorious Round of Fame,
Great MARLBRÔ, still the same,
Incessant runs his Course;
To Climes remote, and near,
His Conq'ring Arms by turns appear,
And Universal is his Aid and Force.

I.

Attempt not to proceed, unwary Muse,
For O! what Notes, what Numbers could'st thou chuse,
Tho' in all Numbers skill'd;
To Sing the Hero's matchless Deed,
Which Belgia Sav'd, and Brabant Free'd;
To Sing Ramillia's Day! to which must yield
 Cannae's Illustrious Fight, and Fam'd Pharsalia's Field.

II.

In the short Course of a Diurnal Sun,
Behold the Work of many Ages done!
What Verse such Worth can Raise?
Lustre and Life, the Poet's Art
To middle Vertue may impart;
But Deeds sublime, exalted high like These,
Transcend his utmost Flight; and mock his distant Praise.

III.

Still wou'd the willing Muse aspire,
With Transport still her Strains prolong;
But Fear unstrings the trembling Lyre,
And Admiration stops her Song.
Go on, Great Chief, in ANNA's Cause proceed;
Nor sheath the Terrors of thy Sword,
'Till Europe thou hast freed,
And Universal Peace restor'd.
This mighty Work when thou shalt End,
Equal Rewards attend,
Of Value far above
Thy Trophies and thy Spoils;
Rewards even Worthy of thy Toils,
Thy QUEEN's just Favour, and thy COUNTRY's Love