THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM, To His GRACE the DUKE of MARLBOROUGH.
[1]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,
[2] 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:
[3] 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;
[4] 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,
[5] '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.
[6]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.
[7] 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;
[8] 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:
[9] 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,
[10] 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.
[11]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,
[12] 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:
[13] 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.
[14]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.
[15] 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,
[16] 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,
[17] 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.
[18]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,
[19] 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;
[20] 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.
[21]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;
[22] 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;
[23] 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.