Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's join'd, The fatal day its mighty course began, Behold in awful march and dread array The long-extended squadrons shape their way! Death, in approaching, terrible, imparts An anxious horrour to the bravest hearts; Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife, And thirst of glory quells the love of life. No vulgar fears can British minds control : Heat of revenge, and noble pride of soul, O'erlook the foe, advantag'd by his post, Lessen his numbers, and contract his host; Though 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 battle join'd! Methinks I hear the drums tumultuous sound The victors' shouts and dying groans confound, The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, And all the thunder of the battle rise. [prov'd, 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd, Amidst confusion, horrour, 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 battle 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 orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. But see the haughty household troops advance ! The dread of Europe, and the pride of France. The war's whole art each private soldier knows, And with a general'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 crowds of glorious actions lie, 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 lie unsung! In joys of conquest he resigns his breath, In heaps the rolling billows sweep away, Unfortunate Tallard! Oh, who can name With floods of gore, that from the vanquish'd fell, The distant battle drives th' insulting Gauls; The hero's breast still swells with great designs, While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows, The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrain'd, Taught by his counsels, by his actions warm'd, The British chief, for mighty toils renown'd, 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 lie Beneath the constant influence of her eye! Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall Like Heaven's indulgence, and descend on all, Secure the happy, succour the distrest, Make every 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 wondrous 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 hero cast a borrow'd blaze. Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright, And proudly shine in their own native light, Rais'd of themselves their genuine charms they boast, And those who paint them truest praise them most. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, ON HIS PICTURE OF THE KING. KNELLER, with silence and surprise The magic of thy art calls forth The image on the medal plac'd, Or, wrought within the curious mold, Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride, Thy pencil has, by monarchs sought, From reign to reign in ermine wrought, And, in the robes of state array'd, The kings of half an age display'd. Here swarthy Charles appears, and there Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair, Her twisted threads; the web she strung, Her short-liv'd darling son to mourn. This wonder of the sculptor's hand For who would hope new fame to raise, PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. | THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, When in the sultry glebe I faint, Though in the paths of death I tread, Though in a bare and rugged way, MATTHEW PRIOR. MATTHEW PRIOR, a distinguished poet, was born | It will not be worth while here to take notice of all however, publicly assumed the character till he was superseded by the Earl of Stair, on the accession of George I. The Whigs being now in power, he was welcomed, on his return, by a warrant from the House of Commons, under which he was committed to the custody of a messenger. He was examined before the Privy Council respecting lis share in the peace of Utrecht, was treated with rigour, and Walpole moved an impeachment against him, on a charge of high treason, for holding clandestine conferences with the French plenipotentiary. His name was excepted from an act of grace passed in 1717 at length, however, he was discharged, without being brought to trial, to end his days in retirement. 1664, in London according to one account, his changes in the political world, except to mention ccording to another at Winborne, in Dorsetshire. the disgraces which followed the famous congress His father dying when he was young, an uncle, of Utrecht, in which he was deeply engaged. For who was a vintner, or tavern-keeper, at Charing- the completion of that business he was left in Cross, took him under his care, and sent him to France, with the appointments and authority of an Westminster-school, of which Dr. Busby was ambassador, though without the title, the proud hen master. Before he had passed through the Duke of Shrewsbury having refused to be joined in chool, his uncle took him home, for the pur-commission with a man so meanly born. Prior, ose of bringing him into his own business; but he Earl of Dorset, a great patron of letters, having ound him one day reading Horace, and being leased with his conversation, determined to give im an university education. He was accordingly dmitted of St. John's College, Cambridge, in 682, proceeded bachelor of arts in 1686, and was oon after elected to a fellowship. After having. roved his poetic talents by some college exercises, e was introduced at court by the Earl of Dorset, nd was so effectually recommended, that, in 1690, e was appointed secretary to the English pleniotentiaries who attended the congress at the lague. Being now enlisted in the service of the ourt, his productions were, for some years, chiefly irected to courtly topics, of which one of the most ɔnsiderable was an Ode presented to King William 1 1695, on the death of Queen Mary. In 1697, e was nominated secretary to the commissioners or the treaty of Ryswick; and, on his return, was ade secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. le went to France in the following year, as secrery, first to the Earl of Portland, and then to the arl of Jersey; and being now regarded as one onversant in public affairs, he was summoned by ing William to Loo, where he had a confidential adience. In the beginning of 1701 he sat in Parment for East Grinstead. Prior had hitherto been promoted and acted with e Whigs: but the Tories now having become the evalent party, he turned about, and ever after adred to them. He even voted for the impeachent of those lords who advised that partition aty in which he had been officially employed. ke most converts, he embraced his new friends th much zeal, and from that time almost all his ial connections were confined within the limits of party. The successes in the beginning of Queen Anne's gn were celebrated by the poets on both sides; Prior sung the victories of Blenheim and milies he afterwards, however, joined in the ack of the great general who had been his theme. We are now to consider Prior among the poetical characters of the time. In his writings is found that incongruous mixture of light and rather indecent topics with grave and even religious ones, which was not uncommon at that period. In the faculty of telling a story with ease and vivacity, he yields only to Swift, compared to whom his humour is occasionally strained and quaint. His songs and amatory pieces are generally elegant and classical. The most popular of his serious compositions are "Henry and Emma," or the Nut-brown Maid, modernised from an antique original; and "Solomon," the idea of which is taken from the book of Ecclesiastes. These are harmonious in their versification, splendid and correct in their diction, and copious in poetical imagery; but they exert no powerful effect on the feelings or the fancy, and are enfeebled by prolixity. His " Alma," a piece of philosophical pleasantry, was written to console himself when under confinement, and displays a considerable share of reading. As to his elaborate effusions of loyalty and patriotism, they seem to have sunk into total neglect. The life of Prior was cut short by a lingering illness, which closed his days at Wimpole, the seat of Lord Oxford, in September, 1721, in the 58th year of his age. HENRY AND EMMA. A POEM, Upon the Model of the Nut-Brown Maid. TO CLOE. THOU, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command At thy desire, she shall again be rais'd; As beauty's potent queen, with every grace, WHERE beauteous Isis and her husband Tame, With mingled waves, for ever flow the same, In times of yore an ancient baron liv'd; Great gifts bestow'd, and great respect receiv'd. When dreadful Edward, with successful care, Led his free Britons to the Gallic war; This lord had headed his appointed bands, In firm allegiance to his king's commands; And (all due honours faithfully discharg'd) Had brought back his paternal coat, enlarg'd With a new mark, the witness of his toil, And no inglorious part of foreign spoil. From the loud camp retir'd, and noisy court, In honourable ease and rural sport, The remnant of his days he safely past; Nor found they lagg'd too slow, nor flew too fast. He made his wish with his estate comply, Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die. One child he had, a daughter chaste and fair, His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir. They call'd her Emma; for the beauteous dame, Who gave the virgin birth, had borne the name: The name th' indulgent father doubly lov'd: For in the child the mother's charms improv'd. Yet as, when little, round his knees she play'd, He call'd her oft, in sport, his Nut-brown Maid, The friends and tenants took the fondling word, (As still they please, who imitate their lord): Usage confirm'd what fancy had begun ; The mutual terms around the land were known: And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were one. As with her stature, still her charms increas'd; By public praises, and by secret sighs, While these in public to the castle came, When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit drest, Henry on foot pursues the bounding beast. In his right-hand his beechen pole he bears; And graceful at his side his horn he wears. Still to the glade, where she has bent her way, With knowing skill he drives the future prey; Bids her decline the hill, and shun the brake; And shows the path her steed may safest take; Directs her spear to fix the glorious wound; Pleas'd in his toils to have her triumph crown'd, And blows her praises in no common sound. A falconer Henry is, when. Emma hawks: With her of tarsels and of lures he talks. Upon his wrist the towering merlin stands, Practis'd to rise, and stoop at her commands. And when superior now the bird has flown, And headlong brought the tumbling quarry down; With humble reverence he accosts the fair, And with the honour'd feather decks her hair. Yet still, as from the sportive field she goes, His down-cast eye reveals his inward woes; And by his look and sorrow is exprest, A nobler game pursued than bird or beast. A shepherd now along the plain he roves; And, with his jolly pipe, delights the groves. |