| |
| WHEN Europe, freed, confessed the saving power | |
| Of Marlborough’s hand, Britain, who sent him forth | |
| Chief of confederate hosts, to fight the cause | |
| Of liberty and justice, grateful raised | |
| This palace, sacred to her leader’s fame; | 5 |
| A trophy of success; with spoils adorned | |
| Of conquered towns, and glorying in the name | |
| Of that auspicious field where Churchill’s sword | |
| Vanquished the might of Gallia, and chastised | |
| Rebel Bavar. Majestic in its strength | 10 |
| Stands the proud dome, and speaks its great design. * * * * * | |
| Now through the stately portals issuing forth, | |
| The Muse to softer glories turns, and seeks | |
| The woodland shade, delighted. Not the vale | |
| Of Tempé, famed in song, or Ida’s grove | 15 |
| Such beauty boasts. Amid the mazy gloom | |
| Of this romantic wilderness once stood | |
| The bower of Rosamonda, hapless fair, | |
| Sacred to grief and love: the crystal fount | |
| In which she used to bathe her beauteous limbs | 20 |
| Still warbling flows, pleased to reflect the face | |
| Of Spencer, lovely maid, when tired she sits | |
| Beside its flowery brink, and views those charms | |
| Which only Rosamond could once excel. | |
| But see where flowing with a nobler stream, | 25 |
| A limpid lake of purest waters rolls | |
| Beneath the wide-stretched arch, stupendous work, | |
| Through which the Danube might collected pour | |
| His spacious urn! Silent awhile and smooth | |
| The current glides, till with an headlong force | 30 |
| Broke and disordered, down the steep it falls | |
| In loud cascades; the silver-sparkling foam | |
| Glitters relucent in the dancing ray. | |
| |
| In these retreats reposed the mighty soul | |
| Of Churchill, from the toils of war and state, | 35 |
| Splendidly private, and the tranquil joy | |
| Of contemplation felt, while Blenheim’s dome | |
| Triumphal ever in his mind renewed | |
| The memory of his fame, and soothed his thoughts | |
| With pleasing record of his glorious deeds. | 40 |
| So by the rage of faction, home recalled, | |
| Lucullus, while he waged successful war | |
| Against the pride of Asia, and the power | |
| Of Mithridates, whose aspiring mind | |
| No losses could subdue, enriched with spoils | 45 |
| Of conquered nations, back returned to Rome, | |
| And in magnificent retirement past | |
| The evening of his life. * * * * * Lo! where towering on the height | |
| Of yon aerial pillar proudly stands | |
| Thy image, like a guardian god, sublime, | 50 |
| And awes the subject plain: beneath his feet | |
| The German eagles spread their wings, his hand | |
| Grasps Victory, its slave. Such was thy brow | |
| Majestic, such thy martial port, when Gaul | |
| Fled from thy frown, and in the Danube sought | 55 |
| A refuge from thy sword. * * * * * Nor shall the constant love | |
| Of her who raised this monument be lost | |
| In dark oblivion: that shall be the theme | |
| Of future bards in ages yet unborn, | |
| Inspired with Chaucer’s fire, who in these groves | 60 |
| First tuned the British harp, and little deemed | |
| His humble dwelling should the neighbor be | |
| Of Blenheim, house superb; to which the throng | |
| Of travellers approaching shall not pass | |
| His roof unnoted, but respectful hail | 65 |
| With reverence due. Such honor does the Muse | |
| Obtain her favorites. | |
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