Blenheim
WRITTEN AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD ,
In the Year 1727.
Parent of Arts! whose skilful hand first taught
The tow'ring pile to rise, and form'd the plan
With fair proportion, Architect divine!
Minerva! thee to my advent'rous lyre
Assistant I invoke, that means to sing
Blenheim, proud monument of British fame,
Thy glorious work! for thou the lofty tow'rs
Didst to his virtue raise whom oft' thy shield
In peril guarded, and thy wisdom steer'd
Thro' all the storms of war. — Thee too I call
Thalia! sylvan Muse, who lov'st to rove
Along the shady paths and verdant bow'rs
Of Woodstock's happy grove, there tuning sweet
Thy rural pipe while all the Dryad train
Attentive listen, let thy warbling song
Paint with melodious praise the pleasing scene,
And equal these to Pindus' honour'd shades.
When Europe freed confess'd the saving pow'r
Of Marlb'rough's hand Britain, who sent him forth
Chief of confed'rate hosts to fight the cause
Of Liberty and Justice, grateful rais'd
This palace, sacred to her leader's fame;
A trophy of success with spoils adorn'd
Of conquer'd towns, and glorying in the name
Of that auspicious field where Churchill's sword
Vanquish'd the might of Gallia, and chastis'd
Rebel Bavar. — Majestick in its strength
Stands the proud dome, and speaks its great design.
Hail, happy Chief! whose valour could deserve
Reward so glorious! grateful Nation hail!
Who paidst his service with so rich a meed!
Which most shall I admire; which worthiest praise,
The hero or the people? Honour doubts,
And weighs their virtues in an equal scale.
Not thus Germania pays th' uncancell'd debt
Of Gratitude to us. — Blush Caesar! blush,
When thou beholdst these tow'rs, Ingrate! to thee
A monument of shame! Canst thou forget
Whence they are nam'd, and what an English arm
Did for thy throne that day? But we disdain
Or to upbraid or imitate thy guilt.
Steel thy obdurate heart against the sense
Of obligation infinite, and know
Britain, like Heav'n, protects a thankless world
For her own glory, nor expects reward.
Pleas'd with the noble theme her task the Muse
Pursues untir'd, and thro' the palace roves
With ever-new delight. The tap'stry rich
With gold, and gay with all the beauteous paint
Of various colour'd silks, dispos'd with skill
Attracts her curious eye. Here Ister rolls
His purple wave, and there the Granick flood
With passing squadrons foams; here hardy Gaul
Flies from the sword of Britain, there to Greece
Esseminate Persia yields. — In arms oppos'd
Marlb'rough and Alexander vie for fame
With glorious competition, equal both
In valour and in fortune; but their praise
Be diff'rent, for with diff'rent views they fought,
This to subdue and that to free mankind.
Now thro' the stately portals issuing forth
The Muse to softer glories turns, and seeks
The woodland shade delighted. Not the vale
Of Tempe, fam'd in song, or Ida's grove,
Such beauty boasts. Amid the mazy gloom
Of this romantick wilderness once stood
The bow'r of Rosamonda, hapless fair!
Sacred to grief and Love: the crystal fount
In which she us'd to bathe her beauteous limbs
Still warbling flows, pleas'd to reflect the face
Of Spenser, lovely maid! when tir'd she fits
Beside its flow'ry brink, and views those charms
Which only Rosamond could once excel.
But see where flowing with a nobler stream
A limpid lake of purest waters rolls
Beneath the wide-stretch'd arch, stupendous work!
Thro' which the Danube might collected pour
His spacious urn: silent a while and smooth
The current glides, till with an headlong force
Broke and disorder'd down the steep it falls
In loud cascades; the silver-sparkling foam
Glitters relucent in the dancing ray.
In these retreats repos'd the mighty foul
Of Churchill, from the toils of war and state
Splendidly private, and the tranquil joy
Of Contemplation felt, while Blenheim's dome
Triumphal ever in his mind renew'd
The mem'ry of his same, and sooth'd his thoughts
With pleasing record of his glorious deeds.
So by the rage of Faction home recall'd
Lucullus, while he wag'd successful war
Against the pride of Asia and the pow'r
Of Mithridates, whose aspiring mind
No losses could subdue, enrich'd with spoils
Of conquer'd nations back return'd to Rome,
And in magnificent retirement past
The ev'ning of his life. — But not alone
In the calm shades of honourable ease
Great Marlb'rough peaceful dwelt; indulgent Heav'n
Gave a companion to his softer hours,
With whom conversing he forgot all change
Of fortune or of state, and in her mind
Found greatness equal to his own, and lov'd
Himself in her. — Thus each by each admir'd
In mutual honour mutual fondness join'd;
Like two fair stars with intermingled light
In friendly union they together shone,
Aiding each other's brightness, till the cloud
Of night eternal quench'd the beams of one.
Thee Churchill! first the ruthless hand of Death
Tore from thy consort's side, and call'd thee hence
To the sublimer seats of joy and love,
Where Fate again shall join her soul to thine
Who now, regardful of thy fame, erects
The column to thy praise, and sooths her wo
With pious honours to thy sacred name
Immortal. Lo! where tow'ring in the height
Of yon' aerial pillar proudly stands
Thy image, like a guardian god sublime,
And awes the subject plain: beneath his feet
The German Eagles spread their wings; his hand
Grasps Victory, its slave. Such was thy brow
Majestick, such thy martial port, when Gaul
Fled from thy frown, and in the Danube fought
A refuge from thy sword. — There where the field
Was deepest stain'd with gore, on Hockstet's plain,
The theatre of thy glory, once was rais'd
A meaner trophy by th' Imperial hand;
Extorted gratitude, which now the rage
Of malice impotent, beseeming ill
A regal breast, has levell'd to the ground;
Mean insult! This with better auspices
Shall stand on British earth to tell the world
How Marlb'rough fought, for whom and how repaid
His services. Nor shall the constant love
Of her who rais'd this monument be lost
In dark oblivion; that shall be the theme
Of future bards in ages yet unborn
Inspir'd with Chaucer's fire, who in these groves
First tun'd the British harp, and little deem'd
His humble dwelling should the neighbour be
Of Blenheim, house superb! to which the throng
Of travellers approaching shall not pass
His roof unnoted, but respectful hail
With rev'rence due. Such honour does the Muse
Obtain her fav'rites! — But the noble pile
(My theme) demands my voice. — O Shade ador'd,
Marlb'rough! who now above the starry sphere
Dwell'st in the palaces of heav'n enthron'd
Among the demigods, deign to defend
This thy abode, while present here below
And sacred still to thy immortal fame,
With tutelary care: preserve it safe
From Time's destroying hand and cruel stroke
Of factious Envy's more relentless rage.
Here may long ages hence the British youth,
When honour calls them to the field of war,
Behold the trophies which thy valour rais'd,
The proud reward of thy successful toils
For Europe's freedom and Britannia's fame,
That fir'd with gen'rous envy they may dare
To emulate thy deeds. — So shall thy name
Dear to thy country still inspire her sons
With martial virtue, and to high attempts
Excite their arms, till other battles won
And nations sav'd new monuments require,
And other Blenheims shall adorn the land.
In the Year 1727.
Parent of Arts! whose skilful hand first taught
The tow'ring pile to rise, and form'd the plan
With fair proportion, Architect divine!
Minerva! thee to my advent'rous lyre
Assistant I invoke, that means to sing
Blenheim, proud monument of British fame,
Thy glorious work! for thou the lofty tow'rs
Didst to his virtue raise whom oft' thy shield
In peril guarded, and thy wisdom steer'd
Thro' all the storms of war. — Thee too I call
Thalia! sylvan Muse, who lov'st to rove
Along the shady paths and verdant bow'rs
Of Woodstock's happy grove, there tuning sweet
Thy rural pipe while all the Dryad train
Attentive listen, let thy warbling song
Paint with melodious praise the pleasing scene,
And equal these to Pindus' honour'd shades.
When Europe freed confess'd the saving pow'r
Of Marlb'rough's hand Britain, who sent him forth
Chief of confed'rate hosts to fight the cause
Of Liberty and Justice, grateful rais'd
This palace, sacred to her leader's fame;
A trophy of success with spoils adorn'd
Of conquer'd towns, and glorying in the name
Of that auspicious field where Churchill's sword
Vanquish'd the might of Gallia, and chastis'd
Rebel Bavar. — Majestick in its strength
Stands the proud dome, and speaks its great design.
Hail, happy Chief! whose valour could deserve
Reward so glorious! grateful Nation hail!
Who paidst his service with so rich a meed!
Which most shall I admire; which worthiest praise,
The hero or the people? Honour doubts,
And weighs their virtues in an equal scale.
Not thus Germania pays th' uncancell'd debt
Of Gratitude to us. — Blush Caesar! blush,
When thou beholdst these tow'rs, Ingrate! to thee
A monument of shame! Canst thou forget
Whence they are nam'd, and what an English arm
Did for thy throne that day? But we disdain
Or to upbraid or imitate thy guilt.
Steel thy obdurate heart against the sense
Of obligation infinite, and know
Britain, like Heav'n, protects a thankless world
For her own glory, nor expects reward.
Pleas'd with the noble theme her task the Muse
Pursues untir'd, and thro' the palace roves
With ever-new delight. The tap'stry rich
With gold, and gay with all the beauteous paint
Of various colour'd silks, dispos'd with skill
Attracts her curious eye. Here Ister rolls
His purple wave, and there the Granick flood
With passing squadrons foams; here hardy Gaul
Flies from the sword of Britain, there to Greece
Esseminate Persia yields. — In arms oppos'd
Marlb'rough and Alexander vie for fame
With glorious competition, equal both
In valour and in fortune; but their praise
Be diff'rent, for with diff'rent views they fought,
This to subdue and that to free mankind.
Now thro' the stately portals issuing forth
The Muse to softer glories turns, and seeks
The woodland shade delighted. Not the vale
Of Tempe, fam'd in song, or Ida's grove,
Such beauty boasts. Amid the mazy gloom
Of this romantick wilderness once stood
The bow'r of Rosamonda, hapless fair!
Sacred to grief and Love: the crystal fount
In which she us'd to bathe her beauteous limbs
Still warbling flows, pleas'd to reflect the face
Of Spenser, lovely maid! when tir'd she fits
Beside its flow'ry brink, and views those charms
Which only Rosamond could once excel.
But see where flowing with a nobler stream
A limpid lake of purest waters rolls
Beneath the wide-stretch'd arch, stupendous work!
Thro' which the Danube might collected pour
His spacious urn: silent a while and smooth
The current glides, till with an headlong force
Broke and disorder'd down the steep it falls
In loud cascades; the silver-sparkling foam
Glitters relucent in the dancing ray.
In these retreats repos'd the mighty foul
Of Churchill, from the toils of war and state
Splendidly private, and the tranquil joy
Of Contemplation felt, while Blenheim's dome
Triumphal ever in his mind renew'd
The mem'ry of his same, and sooth'd his thoughts
With pleasing record of his glorious deeds.
So by the rage of Faction home recall'd
Lucullus, while he wag'd successful war
Against the pride of Asia and the pow'r
Of Mithridates, whose aspiring mind
No losses could subdue, enrich'd with spoils
Of conquer'd nations back return'd to Rome,
And in magnificent retirement past
The ev'ning of his life. — But not alone
In the calm shades of honourable ease
Great Marlb'rough peaceful dwelt; indulgent Heav'n
Gave a companion to his softer hours,
With whom conversing he forgot all change
Of fortune or of state, and in her mind
Found greatness equal to his own, and lov'd
Himself in her. — Thus each by each admir'd
In mutual honour mutual fondness join'd;
Like two fair stars with intermingled light
In friendly union they together shone,
Aiding each other's brightness, till the cloud
Of night eternal quench'd the beams of one.
Thee Churchill! first the ruthless hand of Death
Tore from thy consort's side, and call'd thee hence
To the sublimer seats of joy and love,
Where Fate again shall join her soul to thine
Who now, regardful of thy fame, erects
The column to thy praise, and sooths her wo
With pious honours to thy sacred name
Immortal. Lo! where tow'ring in the height
Of yon' aerial pillar proudly stands
Thy image, like a guardian god sublime,
And awes the subject plain: beneath his feet
The German Eagles spread their wings; his hand
Grasps Victory, its slave. Such was thy brow
Majestick, such thy martial port, when Gaul
Fled from thy frown, and in the Danube fought
A refuge from thy sword. — There where the field
Was deepest stain'd with gore, on Hockstet's plain,
The theatre of thy glory, once was rais'd
A meaner trophy by th' Imperial hand;
Extorted gratitude, which now the rage
Of malice impotent, beseeming ill
A regal breast, has levell'd to the ground;
Mean insult! This with better auspices
Shall stand on British earth to tell the world
How Marlb'rough fought, for whom and how repaid
His services. Nor shall the constant love
Of her who rais'd this monument be lost
In dark oblivion; that shall be the theme
Of future bards in ages yet unborn
Inspir'd with Chaucer's fire, who in these groves
First tun'd the British harp, and little deem'd
His humble dwelling should the neighbour be
Of Blenheim, house superb! to which the throng
Of travellers approaching shall not pass
His roof unnoted, but respectful hail
With rev'rence due. Such honour does the Muse
Obtain her fav'rites! — But the noble pile
(My theme) demands my voice. — O Shade ador'd,
Marlb'rough! who now above the starry sphere
Dwell'st in the palaces of heav'n enthron'd
Among the demigods, deign to defend
This thy abode, while present here below
And sacred still to thy immortal fame,
With tutelary care: preserve it safe
From Time's destroying hand and cruel stroke
Of factious Envy's more relentless rage.
Here may long ages hence the British youth,
When honour calls them to the field of war,
Behold the trophies which thy valour rais'd,
The proud reward of thy successful toils
For Europe's freedom and Britannia's fame,
That fir'd with gen'rous envy they may dare
To emulate thy deeds. — So shall thy name
Dear to thy country still inspire her sons
With martial virtue, and to high attempts
Excite their arms, till other battles won
And nations sav'd new monuments require,
And other Blenheims shall adorn the land.
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