An ODE ON THE BATTLE of Dettingen.
[3]I.
ILluſtrious Prince! by Heav'n deſign'd
To guard the Rights of Humankind,
And raiſe a falling State:
To ſcourge the Proud, ſupport the Brave,
To check Oppreſſive Pow'r, and ſave
An Empire from it's Fate:
II.
What Poet, with Maeonian Wing,
Shall your Immortal Praiſes ſing,
And glorious Acts record?
Tell, how young William bravely bled;
How Bourbon's Legions trembling fled
Before your Conq'ring Sword?
[4]III.
The Muſe admires the noble Theme;
The Muſe would gladly ſound your Fame;
But fearing War's Alarms,
With conſcious Modeſty recedes,
Unable to recite the Deeds
Of your Victorious Arms.
IV.
She trembles, when her Monarch dares
The thickeſt Dangers of the Wars,
Like Mars on Phrygian Ground;
Nor can ſhe ſing, how William ſtood,
Drenching the Field with Gallic Blood,
Regardleſs of his Wound.
V.
Nor how the Mayne, with Purple dy'd,
(For Purple Streams increas'd his Tide)
Shook with the Cannon's Roar;
And while you thunder'd o'er the Plain,
Roll'd under floating Heaps of Slain,
That ſpread his Surface o'er.
[5]VI.
Noailles beheld your hardy Deed;
Beheld his fainting Squadrons bleed,
And Heaps on Heaps expire:
He ſaw; and ſounded a Retreat;
Unable to ſuſtain the Heat
Of your reſiſtleſs Fire.
VII.
Then roſe the Genius of the Rhine;
(No juicy Honours of the Vine
Adorn'd his plunder'd Head;
His Front indented deep with Scars,
The recent Marks of lawleſs Wars;)
And thus to Noailles ſaid:
VIII.
Did ever tim'rous Sheep explore
The Lion on the Afric Shore,
Or dare the Tiger's Hate?
Did ever feeble Doves engage
Againſt the martial Eagle's Rage,
And court their certain Fate?
[6]IX.
Fools that you were, to paſs the Mayne,
To ſeek Auguſtus on the Plain,
Whom virtuous Glory warms!
When Britiſh Chiefs the Battle try,
Your greateſt Triumph is to Fly,
And 'ſcape their vengeful Arms.
X.
Contend no more for foreign Crowns;
Retreat, and fortify your Towns;
Secure your Monarch's Throne:
Leſt Bourbon mourn his ruin'd State;
And GEORGE'S conq'ring Arms compleat
What Edward's but begun.
XI.
Should William once invade your Land,
The Lightning darted from his Hand
Would burn without Controul:
Your Arms may then oppoſe in vain;
Your Thunder wound the Youth again,
Not move his daring Soul.
[7]XII.
For, bravely warm'd with Martial Rage,
And Courage that tranſcends his Age,
He imitates his Sire:
That Sire, ſo early known to France;
Who, ſcorning Danger, durſt advance
Thro' Clouds of Smoke and Fire.
XIII.
Muſe, whither would thy Fancy ſoar?
Theſe Subjects far ſurpaſs thy Pow'r,
And ſuit ſublimer Lays:
From GEORGE'S glorious Name refrain;
Nor with thy low ignoble Strain
Degrade brave WILLIAM'S Praiſe.
FINIS.