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 cou'd tame. XXIII.
Their Tudors hence, and Stuart's offspring flow:
Hence Edward, dreadful,with his fable fhield;
Talbot to Gallia's pow'r eternal foe;
And Seymor, fam'd in council, or in field :
Hence Nevil, great to fettle or dethrone;
And Drake and Ca'ndish, terrors of the sea :
Hence Butler's fons, 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 fhe proudly bears;
Eludes the ax, and sprouts against the stroke:
Strong from her wounds, and greater by her wars.
And as thofe teeth, which Cadmus fow'd in earth,.
Produc'd new youth, and furnish'd fresh supplies:
So with young vigour, and fucceeding birth,
Her loffes more than recompens❜d arife:
And ev'ry age fhe with a race is crown'd,
For letters more polite; in battles more renown'd.
XXV.
Obftinate pow'r, whom nothing can repel ;
Nor the fierce Saxon, nor the Dane;
Nor deep impreffion of the Norman steel;
Nor Europe's force amafs'd by envious Spain
Nor France, on univerfal fway 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's.
XXVI.
To fruitful Rheims, or fair Lutetia's gate,
What tidings fhall the meflenger convey
Shall the loud herald our success relate;
Or mitred priest appoint the folemn day?
Alas! my praises they no more must fing;
They to my statue now must bow no more:
Broken, repuls'd is their immortal king:
Fall'n, fall'n' forever is the Gallic pow'r-----
The woman chief is master of the war:
Earth fhe has freed by arms, and vanquish'd heav'n by
While thus the ruin'd foe's despair.commends
Thy council and thy deed, victorious queen ;
What shall thy fubjects fay, and what thy friends!
How fhall thy triumphs in our joy be feen?
Oh! deign to let the eldest of the Nine
Recite Britannia great, and Gallia free:
Oh! with her fifter Sculpture let her join
To raife, great Anne, the monument to thee;
To thee, of all our good the facred fpring;
To thee, our dearest dread; to thee, our fofter King.
XXVIII.
Let Europe fav'd the column high erect,
Than Trajan's higher, or than Antonine's;
Where fembling art may carve the fair effect,
And full atchievement of thy great designs,
In a calm heav'n, and a ferener air:
Sublime the queen shall on the fummit 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 fink beneath their feet, and spread their rage below. XXIX.
Their 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 forever will remain,
(The empire's other hope fhall fay); and here Vanquish'd, intomb'd I'll lie; or crown'd, I'll reign---O virtue, to thy British mother dear!
Like the fam'd Trojan fuffer and abide :
For Anne is thine, I ween, as Venus was his guide.
There, in eternal characters engrav'd,
Vigo, and Gibraltar, and Barcelone,
Their force deftroy'd, their privileges fav'd,
Shall Anna's terrors and her mercies own :
Spain from th' ufurper 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 fent to war;
Whom Anna fent to claim Iberia's throne:
And made him more than king, in calling him her fon. XXXI.
There Ifter pleas'd, by Blenheim's glorious field
Rolling, fhall bid his eaftern waves declares
Germania fav'd by Britain's ample shield;
And bleeding Gaul afflicted by her fpear:
Shall bid him mention Malbro, on that shore
Leading his iflanders, renown'd in arms,
Thro' climes where never British chief before
Or pitch'd his camp, or founded his alarms :
Shall bid them blefs the Queen, who made his streams
Glorious as thofe of Boyn, and fafe as those of Thames.
XXXII.
Brabantia, clad with fields, and crown'd with tow'rs, With decent joy fhall her Deliv'rer meet;
Shall own thy arms, great Queen, and bless thy pow'rs,
Laying the keys beneath thy fubject's feet.
Flandria, by plenty made the home of war,
Shall weep her crime, and bow to Charles reftor'd;
With double vows fhall blefs thy happy care,
In having drawn, and having fheath'd the fword.
From these their fifter provinces shall know,
How Anne fupports a friend, and how forgives a foe.
XXXIII.
Bright fwords, and crested helms, and pointed fpears
In artful piles around the work shall lie;
And fhields indented deep in ancient wars,
Blazon'd with figns of Gallic heraldry;
And ftandards with diftinguish'd honours bright,
Marks of high pow'r and national command;
Which Valois' fons, and Bourbon's bore in fight;
Or gave to Foix', or to Montmorancy's hand :
Great fpoils, which Gallia must to Britain yield,
From Creffy's battle fav'd, to grace Ramilia's field.
And as fine art the fpaces may dispose,
The knowing thought and curious eye fhall fee
Thy e blem, gracious Queen, the British rose,
Type of fweet rule, and gentle majesty :
The Northern thistle, whom no hoftile hand
Unhurt too rudely may provoke, I ween;
Hibernia's harp, device of her command,
And parent of her mirth, fhall there be seen :
Thy vanquish'd lilies, France, decay'd and torn,
Shall with diforder'd pomp the lafting work adorn.
Beneath, great Queen, oh! very far beneath, Near to the ground, and on the humble base; To fave herfelf from darknefs, and from death, That Mufe defires the laft, the lowest place; Who tho' unmeet, yet touch'd the trembling ftring; For the fair fame of Anne, and Albion's land; Who durft of war and martial fury fing: And when thy will, and when thy fubject's hand Had quell'd those wars, and bid that fury cease; Hangs up her grateful harp to conqueft, and to peace.
Set by Monfieur GALLIARD.
ENEATH a verdant laurel's ample shade,
B His lyre to mournful numbers ftrung,
Horace, immortal bard, fupinely laid,
To Venus thus addrefs'd the fong:
Ten thousand little loves around
Lift'ning, dwelt on ev'ry found.
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