Bids ev'ry nation cease her wonted moan,
And ev'ry monarch call his crown his own:
To valour gentler virtues now succeed;
No longer is the great man born to bleed:
Renown'd in councils, brave Argyle shall tell,
Wisdom and prowess in one breast may dwell;
Thro' milder tracks he soars to deathless fame,
And without trembling we resound his name.
No more the rising harvest whets the sword, No longer waves uncertain of its lord: Who cast the seed the golden sheaf shall claim, Nor chance of battle change the master's name: Each stream, unstain'd with blood, more smoothly The brighter sun a fuiler day bestows; All Nature seems to wear a cheerful face, And thank great Anna for returning peace. The patient thus when on his bed of pain No longer he invokes the gods in vain, But rises to new life, in ev'ry field He finds Elysium, rivers nectar yield; Nothing so cheap and vulgar but can please, And borrow beauties from his late disease.
Nor is it peace alone, but such a peace As more than bids the rage of battle cease. Death may determine war, and rest succeed, 'Cause nought survives on which our rage may feed; In faithful friends we lose our glorious foes, And strifes of love exalt our sweet repose.
See graceful Bolingbroke, your friend, advance,
Nor miss his Lansdown in the court of France:
So well receiv'd, so welcome, so at home,
(Bless'd change of fate!) in Bourbon's stately dome,
The monarch pleas'd, descending from his throne,
Will not that Anna call him all her own;
He claims a part; and looking round to find
Something might speak the fulness of his mind,
A di'mond shines, which oft' had touch'd him near,
Renew'd his grief, and robb'd him of a tear;
Now first with joy beheld, well plac'd on one
Who makes him less regret his darling son:
So dear is Anna's minister, so great
Your glorious friend in his own private state.
To make our nations longer too, in vain
Does Nature interpose the raging main:
The Gallic shore to distant Britain grows,
For Lewis Thames, the Seine for Anna flows:
From conflicts past each other's worth we find,
And thence in stricter friendship now are join'd;
Each wound receiv'd now pleads the cause of love,
And former injuries endearments prove.
What Briton but must prize th' illustrious sword
That cause of fear to Churchill could afford?
Who sworn to Bourbon's sceptre, but must frame
Vast thoughts of him that could brave Tallard tame?
Thus gen'rous hatred in affection ends,
And war, which rais'd the foes, completes the friends.
A thousand happy consequences flow,
(The dazzling prospect makes my bosom glow)
Commerce shall lift her swelling sails, and roll
Her wealthy fleets secure from pole to pole.
The British merchant, who with care and pain,
For many moons sees only skies and main,
When now, in view of his lov'd native shore,
The perils of the dreadful ocean o'er,
Cause to regret his wealth no more shall find,
Nor curse the mercy of the sea and wind:
By hardest fate condemn'd to serve a foe,
And give him strength to strike a deeper blow.
Sweet Philomela providently flies
To distant woods and streams for such supplies,
To feed her young, and make them try the wing,
And with their tender notes attempt to sing:
Meanwhile the fowler spreads his secret snare,
And renders vain the tuneful mother's care.
Britannia's bold adventurer of late,
The foaming ocean plough'd with equal fate.
Goodness is greatness in its utmost height,
And pow'r a curse, if not a friend to right.
To conquer is to make dissension cease,
That man may serve the King of kings in peace.
Religion now shall all her rays dispense,
And shine abroad in perfect excellence;
Else may we dread some greater curse at hand,
To scourge a thoughtless and ungrateful land,
Now War is weary, and retir'd to rest;
The meager Famine, and the spotted Pest,
Deputed in her stead, may blast the day,
And sweep the relics of the sword away.
When peaceful Numa fill'd the Roman throne,
Jove in the fulness of his glory shone:
Wise Solomon, a stranger to the sword,
Was born to raise a temple to the Lord.
Anne, too, shall build, and ev'ry sacred pile
Speak peace eternal to Britannia's isle.
Those mighty souls, whom military care
Diverted from their only great affair,
Shall bend their full united force, to bless
Th' almighty Author of their late success.
And what is all the world subdu'd to this?
The grave sets bounds to sublunary bliss.
But there are conquests to great Anna known,
Above the splendour of an earthly throne;
Conquests! whose triumph is too great within
The scanty bound of matter to begin;
Too glorious to shine forth, till it has run
Beyond this darkness of the stars and sun,
And shall whole ages past be still, still but begun.
Heroic Shades! whom wai has swept away,
Look down, and smile on this auspicious day;
Now boast your deaths, to those your glory tell,
Who or at Agincourt or Cressy fer!,
Then deep into eternity retire;
Of greater things than peace or war inquire;
Fully content, and unconcern'd to know
What farther passes in the world below.
The bravest of mankind shall now have leave
To die but once, nor peacemeal seek the grave:
On gain or pleasure bent, we shall not meet
Sad melancholy numbers in each street,
(Owners of bones dispers'd on Flandria's plain.
Or wasting in the bottom of the main)
To turn us back from joy, in tender fear
Lest it an insult of their woes appear,
And make us grudge ourselves that wealth their blood
Perhaps preserv'd, who starve or beg for food.
Devotion shall run pure, and disengage
From that strange fate of mixing peace with rage.
On Heav'n without a sin we now may call,
And guiltless to our Maker prostrate fall;
Be Christians while we pray; nor in one breath
Ask mercy for ourselves, for others death.
But, O! I view with transport arts restor'd,
Which double use to Britain shall afford,
Secure her glory purchas'd in the field,
And yet for future peace sweet motives yield:
While we contemplate, on the painted wall,
The pressing Britain and the flying Gaul,
In such bright images, such living grace,
As leave great Raphael but the second place,
Young.]
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