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| BUT now the trumpet, terrible from far, | |
| In shriller clangors animates the war, | |
| Confederate drums in fuller concert beat, | |
| And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat: | |
| Gallia’s proud standards, to Bavaria’s joined, | 5 |
| Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind; | |
| The daring prince his blasted hopes renews, | |
| And while the thick embattled host he views | |
| Stretched out in deep array, and dreadful length, | |
| His heart dilates, and glories in his strength. | 10 |
| The fatal day its mighty course began, | |
| That the grieved world had long desired in vain: | |
| States that their new captivity bemoaned, | |
| Armies of martyrs that in exile groaned, | |
| Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard, | 15 |
| And prayers in bitterness of soul preferred, | |
| Europe’s loud cries, that Providence assailed, | |
| And Anna’s ardent vows, at length prevailed; | |
| The day was come when Heaven designed to show | |
| His care and conduct of the world below. | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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, advantaged by his post, | |
| Lessen his numbers, and contract his host: | 30 |
| Though fens and floods possessed the middle space, | |
| That unprovoked they would have feared to pass; | |
| Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia’s bands, | |
| When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands. | |
| But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find | 35 |
| To sing the furious troops in battle joined! | |
| 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 battle rise. | 40 |
| ’T was then great Marlbro’s mighty soul was proved, | |
| That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, | |
| Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, | |
| Examined all the dreadful scenes of war; | |
| In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, | 45 |
| To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, | |
| Inspired repulsed 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, | 50 |
| Such as of late o’er pale Britannia past, | |
| Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; | |
| And pleased the Almighty’s orders to perform, | |
| Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. | |
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