AN ODE , Humbly Inscrib'd to the QUEEN . ON THE Glorious Success OF Her MAJESTY's Arms , 1706. Written in Imitation of Spencer's Style . Te non paventis funera Galliæ , Duræque tellus audit Iberiæ : Te cæde gaudentes Sicambri Compositis venerantur Armis . Hor. I. When Great Augustus govern'd Antient Rome , And sent his Conqu'ring Bands to Foreign Wars ; Abroad when Dreaded , and Belov'd at Home , He saw his Fame encreasing with his Years ; Horace , Great Bard ( so Fate ordain'd ) arose ; And Bold , as were his Countrymen in Fight , Snatch'd their fair Actions from degrading Prose , And set their Battels in Eternal Light : High as their Trumpets Tune His Lyre he strung ; And with his Prince's Arms He moraliz'd his Song . II . When bright Eliza rul'd Britannia's State , Widely distributing Her high Commands ; And boldly Wise , and fortunately Great , Freed the glad Nations from Tyrannick Bands ; An equal Genius was in Spenser found : To the high Theme He match'd his Noble Lays : He travell'd England o'er on Fairy Ground , In Mystic Notes to Sing his Monarch's Praise : Reciting wond'rous Truths in pleasing Dreams , He deck'd Eliza's Head with Gloriana's Beams . III . But , Greatest Anna ! while Thy Arms pursue Paths of Renown , and climb Ascents of Fame , Which nor Augustus , nor Eliza knew ; What Poet shall be found to sing Thy Name ? What Numbers shall record , what Tongue shall say Thy Wars on Land , Thy Triumphs on the Main ? O Fairest Model of Imperial Sway ! What Equal Pen shall write Thy wond'rous Reign ? Who shall Attempts and Feats of Arms rehearse , Not yet by Story told , nor parallel'd by Verse ? IV . Me all too mean for such a Task I weet : Yet if the Sovereign Lady deigns to Smile , I'll follow Horace with impetuous Heat , And cloath the Verse in Spenser's Native Style . By these Examples rightly taught to sing , And Smit with Pleasure of my Country's Praise , Stretching the Plumes of an uncommon Wing , High as Olympus I my Flight will raise : And latest Times shall in my Numbers read Anna's Immortal Fame , and Marlbrô's hardy Deed . V. As the strong Eagle in the silent Wood , Mindless of warlike Rage , and hostile Care , Plays round the rocky Cliff , or crystal Flood ; 'Till by Jove's high Behests call'd out to War , And charg'd with Thunder of his angry King , His Bosom with the vengeful Message glows : Upward the Noble Bird directs his Wing ; And tow'ring round his Master's Earth-born Foes , Swift He collects his fatal Stock of Ire ; Lifts his fierce Talon high , and darts the forked Fire . VI . Sedate and calm thus Victor Marlbrô sate , Shaded with Laurels , in his Native Land ; 'Till Anna calls Him from his soft Retreat , And gives Her Second Thunder to his Hand . Then leaving sweet Repose , and gentle Ease , With ardent Speed He seeks the distant Foe : Marching o'er Hills and Vales , o'er Rocks and Seas , He meditates , and strikes the wond'rous Blow . Our Thought flies slower than Our General's Fame : Grasps He the Bolt ? ( We ask ) when He has hurl'd the Flame . VII . When fierce Bavar on Judoign's spacious Plain Did from afar the British Chief behold ; Betwixt Despair , and Rage , and Hope , and Pain , Something within his warring Bosom roll'd : He views that Fav'rite of Indulgent Fame , Whom whilom He had met on Ister's Shoar : Too well , alas ! the Man He knows the same , Whose Prowess there repell'd the Boyan Pow'r ; And sent Them trembling thro' the frighted Lands , Swift as the Whirlwind drives Arabia's scatter'd Sands . VIII . His former Losses He forgets to grieve ; Absolves his Fate , if with a kinder Ray It now would shine , and only give Him leave To Balance the Account of Blenheim's Day . So the fell Lion in the lonely Glade , His Side still smarting with the Hunter's Spear , Tho' deeply wounded , no way yet dismay'd , Roars terrible , and meditates new War ; In sullen Fury traverses the Plain , To find the vent'rous Foe , and Battel Him again . IX . Misguided Prince ! no longer urge Thy Fate , Nor tempt the Hero to unequal War ; Fam'd in Misfortune , and in Ruin Great , Confess the Force of Marlbrô's stronger Star . Those Laurel Groves ( the Merits of thy Youth ) Which Thou from Mahomet didst greatly gain , While bold Assertor of resistless Truth , Thy Sword did Godlike Liberty maintain , Must from thy Brow their falling Honors shed ; And their transplanted Wreaths must deck a worthier Head . X. Yet cease the Ways of Providence to blame , And Human Faults with Human Grief confess : 'Tis Thou art chang'd ; while Heav'n is still the same : From Thy ill Councils date Thy ill Success . Impartial Justice holds Her equal Scales ; 'Till stronger Virtue does the Weight incline : If over Thee thy glorious Foe prevails ; He now Defends the Cause , that once was Thine . Righteous the War , the Champion shall subdue ; For Jove's great Handmaid Power , must Jove's Decrees pursue . XI . Hark ! the dire Trumpets sound their shrill Alarms : Auverquerque , branch'd from the renown'd Nassaws , Hoary in War , and bent beneath his Arms , His Glorious Sword with Dauntless Courage draws . When anxious Britain mourn'd her parting Lord , And all of William that was Mortal Dy'd ; The faithful Hero had receiv'd This Sword From His expiring Master's much-lov'd Side . Oft from it's fatal Ire has Louis flown , Where-e'er Great William led , or Maese and Sambre run . XII . But brandish'd high , in an ill-omen'd Hour To Thee , proud Gaul , behold thy justest Fear , The Master Sword , Disposer of thy Power : 'Tis That which Cæsar gave the British Peer . He took the Gift : Nor ever will I sheath This Steel , ( so Anna's high Behests ordain ) The General said , unless by Glorious Death Absolv'd , 'till Conquest has confirm'd Your Reign . Returns like these Our Mistress bids us make , When from a foreign Prince a Gift Her Britons take . XIII . And now fierce Gallia rushes on her Foes , Her Force augmented by the Boyan Bands : So Volga's Stream , increas'd by Mountain Snows , Rolls with new Fury down thro' Russia's Lands . Like two great Rocks against the raging Tide , ( If Virtue's Force with Nature's We compare ) Unmov'd the Two united Chiefs abide , Sustain the Impulse , and receive the War . Round their firm Sides in vain the Tempest beats ; And still the foaming Wave with lessen'd Pow'r retreats . XIV . The Rage dispers'd , the Glorious Pair advance , With mingl'd Anger , and collected Might , To turn the War , and tell aggressing France , How Britain's Sons and Britain's Friends can fight . On Conquest fix'd , and covetous of Fame , Behold Them rushing thro' the Gallic Host . Thro' standing Corn so runs the sudden Flame , Or Eastern Winds along Sicilia's Coast . They deal their Terrors to the adverse Nation : Pale Death attends their Arms , and ghastly Desolation . XV. But while with fiercest Ire Bellona glows , And Europe rather Hopes than Fears Her Fate ; While Britain presses Her afflicted Foes ; What Horror damps the Strong , and quells the Great ? Whence look the Soldiers Cheeks dismay'd and pale ? Erst ever dreadful , know They now to dread ? The Hostile Troops , I ween , almost prevail ; And the Pursuers only not recede . Alas ! their lessen'd Rage proclaims their Grief ! For anxious , lo ! They croud around their falling Chief ! XVI . I thank Thee , Fate , exclaims the fierce Bavar ; Let Boya's Trumpet grateful Iö's sound : I saw Him fall , their Thunderbolt of War : — Ever to Vengeance sacred be the Ground — Vain Wish ! short Joy ! the Hero mounts again In greater Glory , and with fuller Light : The Ev'ning Star so falls into the Main , To rise at Morn more prevalently bright . He rises safe : but near , too near his Side , A good Man's grievous Loss , a faithful Servant dy'd . XVII . Propitious Mars ! the Battel is regain'd : The Foe with lessen'd Wrath disputes the Field : The Briton fights , by fav'ring Gods sustain'd : Freedom must live ; and lawless Power must yield . Vain now the Tales which fab'ling Poets tell , That wav'ring Conquest still desires to rove ! In Marlbrô's Camp the Goddess knows to dwell : Long as the Hero's Life remains her Love . Again France flies : again the Duke pursues : And on Ramillia's Plains He Blenheim's Fame renews . XVIII . Great Thanks , O Captain great in Arms ! receive From thy Triumphant Country's public Voice : Thy Country greater Thanks can only give To Anne , to Her who made those Arms Her Choice . Recording Schellenberg's , and Blenheim's Toils , We dreaded lest Thou should'st those Toils repeat : We view'd the Palace charg'd with Gallic Spoils ; And in those Spoils We thought thy Praise compleat : For never Greek , We deem'd , nor Roman Knight , In Characters like these did e'er his Acts indite . XIX . Yet mindless still of Ease , Thy Virtue flies A Pitch to Old and Modern Times unknown : Those goodly Deeds which We so highly prize , Imperfect seem , great Chief , to Thee alone . Those Heights , where William's Virtue might have staid , And on the Subject World look'd safely down , By Marlbrô pass'd , the Props and Steps were made , Sublimer yet to raise his Queen's Renown : Still gaining more , still slighting what He gain'd , Nought done the Hero deem'd , while ought undone remain'd . XX . When swift-wing'd Rumor told the mighty Gaul , How lessen'd from the Field Bavar was fled ; He wept the Swiftness of the Champion's Fall ; And thus the Royal Treaty-Breaker said : And lives He yet , the Great , the Lost Bavar , Ruin to Gallia , in the Name of Friend ? Tell Me , how far has Fortune been severe ? Has the Foe's Glory , or our Grief an End ? Remains there , of the Fifty Thousand lost , To save our threaten'd Realm , or guard our shatter'd Coast ? XXI . To the close Rock the frighted Raven flies , Soon as the rising Eagle cuts the Air : The shaggy Wolf unseen and trembling lyes , When the hoarse Roar proclaims the Lion near . Ill-starr'd did We our Forts and Lines forsake , To dare our British Foes to open Fight : Our Conquest We by Stratagem should make : Our Triumph had been founded in our Flight . 'Tis Our's , by Craft and by Surprize to gain : 'Tis Their's , to meet in Arms , and Battel in the Plain . XXII . The ancient Father of this Hostile Brood , Their boasted Brute , undaunted snatch'd his Gods From burning Troy , and Xanthus red with Blood , And fix'd on Silver Thames his dire Abodes ; And this be Troynovante , He said , the Seat By Heav'n ordain'd , My Sons , Your lasting Place : Superior here to all the Bolts of Fate Live , mindful of the Author of your Race , Whom neither Greece , nor War , nor Want , nor Flame , Nor Great Peleides' Arm , nor Juno's Rage could tame . XXIII . Their Tudor's hence , and Stuart's Off-spring flow : Hence Edward , dreadful with his Sable Shield , Talbot , to Gallia's Pow'r Eternal Foe , And Seymour , fam'd in Council , or in Field : Hence Nevil , Great to Settle or Dethrone , And Drake , and Ca'ndish , Terrors of the Sea : Hence Butler's Sons , o'er Land and Ocean known , Herbert's , and Churchill's Warring Progeny : Hence the long Roll which Gallia should conceal : For , oh ! Who vanquish'd , loves the Victor's Fame to tell ? XXIV . Envy'd Britannia , sturdy as the Oak , Which on her Mountain-Top She proudly bears , Eludes the Ax , and sprouts against the Stroke ; Strong from her Wounds , and greater by her Wars . And as Those Teeth , which Cadmus sow'd in Earth , Produc'd new Youth , and furnish'd fresh Supplies : So with young Vigor , and succeeding Birth , Her Losses more than recompens'd arise ; And ev'ry Age She with a Race is Crown'd , For Letters more Polite , in Battels more Renown'd . XXV . Obstinate Pow'r , whom Nothing can repel ; Not the fierce Saxon , nor the cruel Dane , Nor deep Impression of the Norman Steel , Nor Europe's Force amass'd by envious Spain , Nor France on universal Sway intent , Oft breaking Leagues , and oft renewing Wars , Nor ( frequent Bane of weaken'd Government ) Their own intestine Feuds , and mutual Jars ; Those Feuds and Jars , in which I trusted more , Than in My Troops , and Fleets , and all the Gallic Pow'r . XXVI . To fruitful Rheims , or fair Lutetia's Gate What Tidings shall the Messenger convey ? Shall the loud Herald our Success relate , Or mitred Priest appoint the Solemn Day ? Alas ! my Praises They no more must Sing ; They to my Statue now must Bow no more : Broken , repuls'd is their Immortal King : Fall'n , fall'n for ever is the Gallic Pow'r — The Woman Chief is Master of the War : Earth She has freed by Arms , and vanquish'd Heav'n by Pray'r . XXVII . While thus the ruin'd Foe's Despair commends Thy Council and Thy Deed , Victorious queen , What shall Thy Subjects say , and what Thy Friends ? How shall Thy Triumphs in Our Joy be seen ? Oh ! daign to let the Eldest of the Nine Recite Britannia Great , and Gallia Free : Oh ! with her Sister Sculpture let her join To raise , Great Anne , the Monument to Thee ; To Thee , of all our Good the Sacred Spring ; To Thee , our dearest Dread ; to Thee , our softer King . XXVIII . Let Europe sav'd the Column high erect , Than Trajan's higher , or than Antonine's ; Where sembling Art may carve the fair Effect , And full Atchievement of Thy great Designs . In a calm Heav'n , and a serener Air , Sublime the Queen shall on the Summit stand , From Danger far , as far remov'd from Fear , And pointing down to Earth Her dread Command . All Winds , all Storms that threaten Human Woe , Shall sink beneath Her Feet , and spread their Rage below . XXIX . There Fleets shall strive by Winds and Waters tost ; 'Till the young Austrian on Iberia's Strand , Great as Æneas on the Latian Coast , Shall fix his Foot : and This , be This the Land , Great Jove , where I for ever will remain ( The Empire's other Hope shall say ) and here Vanquish'd , Intomb'd I'll lye , or Crown'd I'll Reign — O Virtue , to thy British Mother dear ! Like the fam'd Trojan suffer and abide ; For Anne is Thine , I ween , as Venus was His Guide . XXX . There , in Eternal Characters engrav'd , Vigo , and Gibraltar , and Barcelone , Their Force destroy'd , their Privileges sav'd , Shall Anna's Terrors , and Her Mercies own : Spain , from th'Usurper Bourbon's Arms retriev'd , Shall with new Life and grateful Joy appear , Numb'ring the Wonders which That Youth atchiev'd , Whom Anna clad in Arms , and sent to War ; Whom Anna sent to claim Iberia's Throne ; And made Him more than King , in calling Him Her Son . XXXI . There Ister pleas'd , by Blenheim's glorious Field Rolling , shall bid his Eastern Waves declare Germania sav'd by Britain's ample Shield , And bleeding Gaul afflicted by her Spear : Shall bid Them mention Marlbrô , on that Shore Leading his Islanders , renown'd in Arms , Thro' Climes , where never British Chief before Or pitch'd his Camp , or sounded his Alarms : Shall bid Them bless the Queen , who made his Streams Glorious as those of Boyn , and safe as those of Thames . XXXII . Brabantia , clad with Fields , and crown'd with Tow'rs , With decent Joy shall her Deliv'rer meet ; Shall own Thy Arms , Great Queen , and bless Thy Pow'rs , Laying the Keys beneath Thy Subject's Feet . Flandria , by Plenty made the Home of War , Shall weep her Crime , and bow to Charles restor'd ; With double Vows shall bless Thy happy Care , In having drawn , and having sheath'd the Sword . From these their Sister Provinces shall know How Anne supports a Friend , and how forgives a Foe . XXXIII . Bright Swords , and crested Helms , and pointed Spears In artful Piles around the Work shall lye ; And Shields indented deep in ancient Wars , Blazon'd with Signs of Gallic Heraldry ; And Standards with distinguish'd Honors bright , Marks of high Pow'r and National Command , Which Valois' Sons , and Bourbon's bore in Fight , Or gave to Foix' , or Montmorancy's Hand : Great Spoils , which Gallia must to Britain yield , From Cressy's Battel sav'd , to grace Ramillia's Field . XXXIV . And as fine Art the Spaces may dispose , The knowing Thought and curious Eye shall see Thy Emblem , Gracious Queen , the British Rose , Type of sweet Rule , and gentle Majesty : The Northern Thistle , whom no Hostile Hand Unhurt too rudely may provoke , I ween ; Hibernia's Harp , Device of Her Command , And Parent of Her Mirth , shall there be seen : Thy vanquish'd Lillies , France , decay'd and torn , Shall with disorder'd Pomp the lasting Work adorn . XXXV. Beneath , Great Queen , oh ! very far beneath , Near to the Ground , and on the humble Base , To save Her self from Darkness , and from Death , That Muse desires the last , the lowest Place ; Who tho' unmeet , yet touch'd the trembling String ; For the fair Fame of Anne and Albion's Land , Who durst of War and Martial Fury Sing : And when Thy Will , and when Thy Subject's Hand Had quell'd those Wars , and bid that Fury cease ; Hangs up her grateful Harp to Conquest , and to Peace .