THE CAMPAIGN , A POEM , To His GRACE the DUKE of MARLBOROUGH . WHile Crouds of Princes Your Deserts proclaim , Proud in their Number to enroll Your Name ; While Emperors to You commit their Cause , And ANNA'S Praises crown the vast Applause , Accept , Great Leader , what the Muse indites , That in ambitious Verse records Your Fights , Fir'd and transported with a Theme so new : Ten Thousand Wonders op'ning to my View Shine forth at once , Sieges and Storms appear , And Wars and Conquests fill th'Important Year , Rivers of Blood I see , and Hills of Slain ; An Iliad rising out of One Campaign . The Haughty Gaul beheld , with tow'ring Pride , His ancient Bounds enlarg'd on ev'ry Side , Pirene's lofty Barriers were subdu'd , And in the midst of his wide Empire stood ; Ausonia's States , the Victor to restrain , Oppos'd their Appenines and Alpes in vain , Nor found themselves , with strength of Rocks immur'd , Behind their Everlasting Hills secur'd ; The rising Danube its long Race began , And half its Course through the new Conquests ran ; Amaz'd and anxious for her Sov'raign's Fates , Germania trembled through a Hundred States ; Great Leopold himself was seis'd with Fear , He gaz'd around , but saw no Succour near , He gaz'd , and half abandon'd to Despair His Hopes on Heav'n , and Confidence in Pray'r . To BRITTAIN'S QUEEN the Nations turn their Eyes , On Her Resolves the Western World relies , Confiding still , amidst its dire Alarms , In ANNA'S Councils , and in CHURCHILL'S Arms : Thrice Happy BRITTAIN , from the Kingdoms rent , To sit the Guardian of the Continent ! That sees her Bravest Son advanc'd so high , And flourishing so near her Prince's Eye ; Thy Fav'rites grow not up by Fortune's sport , Or from the Crimes , or Follies of a Court ; On the firm Basis of Desert they rise , From long try'd Faith , and Friendship's Holy Ties : Their Sov'raign's well-distinguish'd Smiles they share , Her Ornaments in Peace , her Strength in War , The Nation thanks them with a Publick Voice , By Show'rs of Blessings Heav'n approves their Choice ; Envy it self is dumb , in Wonder lost , And Factions strive who shall applaud 'em most . Soon as soft Vernal Breezes warm the Sky Brittania's Colours in the Zephyrs fly , Her Chief already has his March begun , Crossing the Provinces Himself had won , Till the Moselle appearing from afar Retards the Progress of the Moving War : Delightful Stream , had Nature bid her fall In distant Climes , far from the perjur'd Gaul ; But now a Purchase to the Sword she lyes , Her Harvests for uncertain Owners rise , Each Vineyard doubtful of its Master grows , And to the Victor's Bowl each Vintage flows : The discontented Shades of slaughter'd Hosts That wander'd on her Banks , her Heroes Ghosts Hop'd , when they saw Brittania's Arms appear , The Vengeance due to their great Deaths was near . Our God-like Leader , e'er the Stream he past , The mighty Scheme of all his Labours cast , Forming the Wond'rous Year within his Thought ; His Bosom glow'd with Battels yet unfought : The long laborious March he first surveys , And joins the distant Danube to the Maese , Between whose Floods such pathless Forests grow , Such Mountains rise , so many Rivers flow : The Toil looks lovely in the Heroes Eyes , And Danger serves but to enhance the Prize . Big with the Fate of Europe he renews His dreadful Course , and the proud Foe pursues : Amidst the sultry Gales his Temples beat , Infected by the burning Scorpion's Heat , 'Till on the Borders of the Maine he finds Defensive Shadows , and refreshing Winds : Our Brittish Youth , with in-born Freedom bold , Unnumber'd Scenes of Servitude behold , Nations of Slaves , with Tyranny debas'd , ( Their Maker's Image more than half defac'd ) Hourly instructed , as they urge their Toil , To prize their QUEEN , and love their Native Soil . Still to the rising Sun they take their Way Through Clouds of Dust , and gain upon the Day . When now the Neckar on its friendly Coast With cooling Streams revives the fainting Host , That chearfully its Labours pass'd forgets , The Midnight Watches , and the Noon-day Heats . O'er prostrate Towns and Palaces they pass , ( Now cover'd o'er with Weeds , and hid in Grass ) Breathing Revenge ; whilst Anger and Disdain Fire ev'ry Breast , and boil in ev'ry Vein : Here shatter'd Walls , like broken Rocks , from far Rise up in hideous Views , the Guilt of War , Whilst here the Vine o'er Hills of Ruin climbs , Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's Crimes . At length the Fame of England's Heroe drew Eugenio to the glorious Interview ; Great Souls by Instinct to each other turn , Demand Alliance , and in Friendship burn ; A sudden Friendship , while with stretch'd out Rays They meet each other , mingling Blaze with Blaze . Polish'd in Courts , and harden'd in the Field , Renown'd for Conquest , and in Council skill'd , Their Courage dwells not in a troubl'd Flood Of mounting Spirits , and fermenting Blood ; Lodg'd in the Soul , with Virtue over-rul'd , Inflam'd by Reason , and by Reason cool'd , In Hours of Peace content to be unknown , And only in the Field of Battel shown : To Souls like these , in mutual Friendship join'd , Heav'n dares entrust the Cause of Human kind . Brittania's graceful Sons appear in Arms , Her Harras'd Troops the Heroe's Presence warms , Whilst the high Hills and Rivers all around With thund'ring Peals of Brittish Shouts resound : Doubling their Speed they March with fresh Delight , Eager for Glory , and require the Fight . So the stanch Hound the trembling Deer pursues , And smells his Footsteps in the tainted Dews , The tedious Track unrav'ling by degrees : But when the Scent comes warm in ev'ry Breeze , Fir'd at the near Approach , he shoots away On his full Stretch , and bears upon his Prey . The March concludes , the various Realms are past , Th' Immortal Schellenberg appears at last : Like Hills th' aspiring Ramparts rise on high , Like Vallies at their Feet the Trenches lye , Batt'ries on Batt'ries guard each fatal Pass , Threat'ning Destruction ; Rows of hollow Brass , Tube behind Tube , the dreadful Entrance keep , Whilst in their Wombs Ten Thousand Thunders sleep : Great CHURCHILL owns , charm'd with the glorious sight , His March o'er-paid by such a promis'd Fight . The Western Sun now shot a feeble Ray , And faintly scatter'd the Remains of Day , Ev'ning approach'd , but oh what Hosts of Foes Were never to behold that Ev'ning close ! Thick'ning their Ranks , and wedg'd in firm Array , The close compacted Brittons win their Way ; In vain the Cannon their throng'd War defac't With Tracks of Death , and laid the Battel waste , Still pressing forward to the Fight , they broke Through Flames of Sulphur , and a Night of Smoke , 'Till slaughter'd Legions fill the Trench below , And bear their fierce Avengers to the Foe . High on the Works the mingling Hosts engage , The Battel kindled into Tenfold Rage With Show'rs of Bullets and with Storms of Fire Burns in full Fury , Heaps on Heaps expire , Whole Nations trampl'd into Dirt , and bruis'd , In one promiscuous Carnage lye confus'd . How many gen'rous Brittons meet their Doom , New to the Field , and Heroes in the Bloom ! Th' Illustrious Youths , that left their Native Shore To March where Brittons never march'd before , ( O Fatal Love of Fame ! O Glorious Heat Only Destructive to the Brave and Great ! ) After such Toils o'ercome , such Dangers past , Stretch'd on Bavarian Ramparts breathe their last . But hold , my Muse , may no Complaints appear , Nor blot the Day with an ungrateful Tear : While MARLBRÔ lives Britannia's Stars dispense , A friendly Light , and shine in Innocence . Plunging thro' Seas of Blood his fiery Steed Where e'er his Friends retire , or Foes succeed ; Those he supports , these drives to sudden Flight , And turns the various Fortune of the Fight . Forbear , Great Man , Renown'd in Arms , forbear To brave the thickest Terrors of the War , Nor hazard thus , confus'd in Crouds of Foes , Britannia's Safety , and the World's Repose ; Let Nations anxious for thy Life abate This Scorn of Danger , and Contempt of Fate : Thou liv'st not for thy self ; thy QUEEN demands Conquest and Peace from thy Victorious Hands ; Kingdoms and Empires in thy Fortune join , And Europe's Destiny depends on Thine . At length the long-disputed Pass they gain , By crouded Armies fortify'd in vain ; The War breaks in , the fierce Bavarians yield , And see their Camp with British Legions fill'd . So Belgian Mounds bear on their shatter'd Sides The Sea's whole weight , encreas'd with swelling Tides , But if the rushing Wave a Passage finds , Enrag'd by watry Moons , and warring Winds , The trembling Peasant sees his Country round Cover'd with Tempests , and in Oceans drown'd . The few surviving Foes , disperst in Flight , ( Refuse of Swords , and Gleanings of a Fight ) In ev'ry russling Wind the Victor hear , And MARLBRÔ'S Form in ev'ry Shadow fear , 'Till the dark Cope of Night with kind Embrace Befriends the Rout , and covers their Disgrace . To Donnawert , with unresisted Force , The gay Victorious Army bends its Course ; The Growth of Meadows , and the Pride of Fields , Whatever Spoils Bavaria's Summer yields , ( The Danube's great Increase ) Britannia shares , The Food of Armies , and Support of Wars : With Magazines of Death , destructive Balls , And Cannons doom'd to batter Landau's Walls , The Victor finds each hidden Cavern stor'd , And turns their Fury on their Guilty Lord . Deluded Prince ! how is thy Greatness crost , And all the gaudy Dream of Empire lost , That proudly set thee on a fancy'd Throne , And made Imaginary Realms thy own ! Thy Troops , that now behind the Danube join , Shall shortly seek for Shelter from the Rhine , Nor find it there : Surrounded with Alarms , Thou hop'est th' Assistance of the Gallic Arms ; The Gallic Arms in Safety shall advance , And croud thy Standards with the Pow'r of France , While to console thy Doom , th'aspiring Gaul Shares thy Destruction , and adorns thy Fall . Unbounded Courage and Compassion join'd , Temp'ring each other in the Victor's Mind , Alternately proclaim him Good and Great , And make the Heroe and the Man compleat . Long did he strive th'obdurate Foe to gain By proffer'd Grace , but long he strove in vain , 'Till fir'd at length he thinks it vain to spare His rising Wrath , and gives a Loose to War . In Vengeance rous'd the Soldier fills his Hand With Sword and Fire , and ravages the Land , A Thousand Villages to Ashes turns , In crackling Flames a Thousand Harvests burns , To the thick Woods the woolly Flocks retreat , And mixt with bellowing Herds confus'dly bleat ; Their trembling Lords the common Shade partake , And Cries of Infants sound in ev'ry Brake : The list'ning Soldier fixt in Sorrow stands , Loth to Obey his Leader's just Commands ; The Leader grieves , by gen'rous Pity sway'd , To see his just Commands so well obey'd . But now the Trumpet terrible from far In shriller Clangors animates the War , Confed'rate Drums in fuller Consort beat , And ecchoing Hills the loud Alarm repeat : Gallia's proud Standards , to Bavaria's join'd , Unfurl their gilded Lillies in the Wind , The daring Prince his blasted Hopes renews , And while the thick embattled Host he views Stretcht out in deep Array , and dreadful Length , His Heart dilates , and glories in his Strength . The fatal Day its mighty Course began That the griev'd World had long desir'd in vain : States that their New Captivity bemoan'd , Armies of Martyrs that in Exile groan'd , Sighs from the Depth of gloomy Dungeons heard , And Pray'rs in Bitterness of Soul preferr'd , Europe's loud Cries , that Providence assail'd , And ANNA'S Ardent Vows at length prevail'd ; The Day was come when Heav'n design'd to show His Care and Conduct of the World below . Behold in awful March and dread Array The long Extended Squadrons shape their Way ! Death , in approaching terrible , imparts An anxious Horror to the Bravest Hearts , Yet do their beating Breasts demand the Strife , And Thirst of Glory quells the Love of Life ; The British Souls low Images disclaim , The Heat of Vengeance and Desire of Fame O'er-look the Foe , advantag'd by his Post , Lessen his Numbers , and Contract his Host : Tho' Fens and Floods possest the middle Space , That unprovok'd they would have fear'd to pass , Nor Fens nor Floods can stop Britannia's Bands , When Her proud Foe rang'd on their Borders stands . But O , my Muse , what Numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious Troops in Battel join'd ! Methinks I hear the Drum's tumultuous Sound The Victor's Shouts and Dying Groans confound , The dreadful Burst of Cannon rend the Skies , And all the Thunder of the Battel rise . 'Twas then Great MARLBRÔ'S mighty Soul was prov'd , That , in the Shock of Charging Hosts unmov'd , Amidst Confusion , Horror , and Despair , Examin'd all the Dreadful Scenes of War ; In peaceful Thought the Field of Death survey'd , To fainting Squadrons sent the timely Aid , Inspir'd repuls'd Battalions to engage , And taught the doubtful Battel where to rage . So when an Angel by Divine Command With rising Tempests shakes a guilty Land , Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past , Calm and Serene he drives the furious Blast ; And , pleas'd th' Almighty's Orders to perform , Rides in the Whirl-wind , and directs the Storm . But see the haughty Houshold-Troops advance ! The Dread of Europe , and the Pride of France . The War's whole Art each private Soldier knows , And with a Gen'ral's Love of Conquest glows ; Proudly He Marches on , and void of Fear Laughs at the shaking of the British Spear ; Vain Insolence ! with Native Freedom brave The meanest Briton scorns the highest Slave , Contempt and Fury fire their Souls by turns , Each Nation's Glory in each Warrior burns , Each fights , as in his Arm th' important Day And all the Fate of his great Monarch lay : A Thousand glorious Actions , that might claim Triumphant Laurels , and Immortal Fame , Confus'd in Crouds of glorious Actions lye , And Troops of Heroes undistinguish'd die . O Dormer , how can I behold thy Fate , And not the Wonders of thy Youth relate ! How can I see the Gay , the Brave , the Young , Fall in the Cloud of War , and lye unsung ! In Joys of Conquest he resigns his Breath , And , fill'd with England's Glory , smiles in Death . The Rout begins , the Gallic Squadrons run , And rush in Crouds to meet the Fate they shun , Thousands of fiery Steeds with Wounds transfix'd Floating in Gore , with their drown'd Masters mixt , Midst Heaps of broken Spears and Standards lye , And in the Danube's bloody Whirl-pools die . Troops of bold Youths , born on the distant Soan , Or sounding Borders of the Rapid Rhône , Or where the Sein her flow'ry Fields divides , Or where the Loire through winding Vineyards glides ; In Heaps the Rolling Billows sweep away , And into Scythian Seas their bloated Corps convey . From Bleinheim's Tow'rs the Gaul , with wild Affright , Beholds the various Havock of the Fight ; His waving Banners , that so oft had stood Planted in Fields of Death , and Streams of Blood , So us'd the guarded Enemy to reach , And rise Triumphant in the Fatal Breach , Or pierce the broken Foe's remotest Lines , The hardy Veteran with Tears resigns . Unfortunate Tallard ! Oh who can name The Pangs of Rage , of Sorrow , and of Shame , That with mixt Tumult in thy Bosom swell'd ! When first thou saw'st thy Bravest Troops repell'd , Thine Only Son pierc'd with a Deadly Wound , Choak'd in his Blood , and gasping on the Ground , Thy self in Bondage by the Victor kept ! The Chief , the Father , and the Captive wept . An English Muse is touch'd with gen'rous Woe , And in th' unhappy Man forgets the Foe . Greatly Distrest ! thy loud Complaints forbear , Blame not the Turns of Fate , and Chance of War ; Give thy Brave Foes their Due , nor blush to own , The fatal Field by such great Leaders won , The Field whence fam'd Eugenio bore away Only the Second Honours of the Day . With Floods of Gore that from the Vanquisht fell The Marshes stagnate , and the Rivers swell . Mountains of Slain lye heap'd upon the Ground , Or 'midst the Roarings of the Danube drown'd ; A Captive Host the Conqueror detains In painful Bondage , and inglorious Chains ; Ev'n those who 'scape the Fetters and the Sword , Nor seek the Fortunes of a happier Lord , Their raging King dishonours , to compleat MARLBRÔ'S Great Work , and finish the Defeat . From Memminghen's high Domes , and Ausburg's Walls , The distant Battel drives th' insulting Gauls , Free'd by the Terror of the Victor's Name The rescu'd States his great Protection claim ; Whilst Ulme th' Approach of her Deliv'rer waits , And longs to open her obsequious Gates . The Heroe's Breast still swells with great Designs , In ev'ry Thought the tow'ring Genius shines : If to the Foe his dreadful Course he bends , O'er the wide Continent his March extends ; If Sieges in his lab'ring Thoughts are form'd , Camps are assaulted , and an Army storm'd ; If to the Fight his active Soul is bent , The Fate of Europe turns on its Event . What distant Land , what Region can afford An Action worthy his Victorious Sword ; Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat , To make the Series of his Toils compleat ? Where the swoln Rhine rushing with all its Force Divides the Hostile Nations in its Course , While Each contracts its Bounds , or wider grows , Enlarg'd or straiten'd as the River flows , On Gallia's Side a mighty Bulwark stands , That all the wide extended Plain commands ; Twice , since the War was kindled , has it try'd The Victor's rage , and twice has chang'd its Side ; As oft whole Armies , with the Prize o'erjoy'd , Have the long Summer on its Walls employ'd . Hither our mighty Chief his Arms directs , Hence future Triumphs from the War expects ; And , tho' the Dog-star had its Course begun , Carries his Arms still nearer to the Sun : Fixt on the glorious Action , He forgets The Change of Seasons , and Increase of Heats : No Toils are painful that can Danger show , No Climes unlovely that contain a Foe . The roving Gaul , to his own Bounds restrain'd , Learns to Encamp within his Native Land , But soon as the Victorious Host he spies , From Hill to Hill , from Stream to Stream he flies : Such dire Impressions in his Heart remain Of MARLBRÔ'S Sword , and HOCKSTET'S fatal Plain : In vain Britannia's mighty Chief besets Their shady Coverts , and obscure Retreats ; They fly the Conqueror's approaching Fame , That bears the Force of Armies in his Name . Austria's Young Monarch , whose Imperial Sway Sceptres and Thrones are destin'd to obey , Whose boasted Ancestry so high extends That in the Pagan Gods his Lineage ends , Comes from a-far , in Gratitude to own The great Supporter of his Father's Throne : What Tides of Glory to his Bosom ran , Clasp'd in th' Embraces of the God-like Man ? How were his Eyes with pleasing Wonder fixt To see such Fire with so much Sweetness mixt , Such easie Greatness , such a graceful Port , So turn'd and finish'd for the Camp or Court ! Achilles thus was form'd with ev'ry Grace , And Nireus shone but in the second Place ; Thus the great Father of Almighty Rome ( His Features flusht with an Immortal Bloom That Cytherea's fragrant Breath bestow'd ) In all the Charms of his bright Mother glow'd . The Royal Youth by MARLBRÔ'S Presence charm'd , Taught by his Counsels , by his Actions warm'd , On Landau with redoubl'd Fury falls , Discharges all his Thunder on its Walls , O'er Mines and Caves of Death provokes the Eight , And learns to Conquer in the Hero's sight . The British Chief , for mighty Toils renown'd , Increas'd in Titles , and with Conquests crown'd , To Belgian Coasts his tedious March renews , And the long Windings of the Rhine pursues , Clearing its Borders from Usurping Foes , And blest by rescu'd Nations as he goes . Treves fears no more , freed from its dire Alarms , And Traerbach feels the Terror of his Arms , Seated on Rocks her proud Foundations shake , While MARLBRÔ presses to the dire Attack , Plants all his Batt'ries , bids his Cannon roar , And shows how Landau might have fall'n before . Scar'd at his near Approach , Great Louis fears Vengeance reserv'd for his declining Years , Forgets his Thirst of Universal Sway , And scarce can teach his Subjects to Obey ; His Arms he finds on vain Attempts employ'd , Th' Ambitions Projects of his Race destroy'd , The Work of Ages sunk in One Campaign , And Lives of Millions sacrific'd in vain . Such are th' Effects of ANNA's Royal Cares : By Her , Britannia , great in Foreign Wars , Ranges through Nations , wheresoe'er disjoin'd , Without the wonted Aid of Sea and Wind . By Her th' unfetter'd Ister's States are free , And taste the Sweets of English Liberty . But who can tell the Joys of those that lye Within the constant Influence of Her Eye ! Whilst in diffusive Show'rs Her Bounties fall Like Heav'n's Indulgence , and descend on All , Secure the Happy , succour the Distrest , Make ev'ry Subject Glad , and a whole People Blest . Thus would I fain Britannia's Wars rehearse , In the smooth Records of a faithful Verse ; That , if such Numbers can o'er Time prevail , May tell Posterity the wond'rous Tale . When Actions , Unadorn'd , are faint and weak , Cities and Countries must be taught to speak ; Gods may descend in Factions from the Skies , And Rivers from their Oozy Beds arise ; Fiction may deck the Truth with spurious Rays , And round the Heroe cast a borrow'd Blaze . MARLBRÔ'S Exploits appear divinely bright , And proudly shine in their own Native Light ; Rais'd of themselves , their genuin Charms they boast , And those who Paint 'em truest Praise 'em most . FINIS .