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Each fights, as in his Arm th' important Day,
And all the Fate of his great Monarch lay:
A Thousand glorious Actions, that might claim
Triumphant Laurels, and Immortal Fame,
Confus'd in Crouds of glorious Actions lye,
And Troops of Heroes undistinguish'd die.
O Dormer! how can I behold thy Fate,
And not the Wonders of thy Youth relate!
How can I see the Gay, the Brave, the Young,
Fall in the Cloud of War, and lye unsung!
In Joys of Conquest he resigns his Breath,
And, fill'd with England's Glory, smiles in Death.
And all the Fate of his great Monarch lay:
A Thousand glorious Actions, that might claim
Triumphant Laurels, and Immortal Fame,
Confus'd in Crouds of glorious Actions lye,
And Troops of Heroes undistinguish'd die.
O Dormer! how can I behold thy Fate,
And not the Wonders of thy Youth relate!
How can I see the Gay, the Brave, the Young,
Fall in the Cloud of War, and lye unsung!
In Joys of Conquest he resigns his Breath,
And, fill'd with England's Glory, smiles in Death.
The Rout begins, the Gallic Squadrons run,
Compell'd in Crouds to meet the Fate they shun;
Thousands of fiery Steeds with Wounds transfix'd,
Floating in Gore, with their drown'd Masters mix'd,
'Midst Heaps of Spears and Standards driv'n around,
Lye in the Danube's bloody Whirl-pools drown'd.
Troops of bold Youths, born on the distant Soan,
Or sounding Borders of the Rapid Rhone;
Or where the Sein her flow'ry Fields divides,
Or where the Loire through winding Vineyards glides;
In Heaps the Rolling Billows sweep away,
And into Scythian Seas their bloated Corps convey.
From Bleinheim's Tow'rs the Gaul, with wild Affright,
Beholds the various Havock of the Fight;
His waving Banners, that so oft had stood
Planted in Fields of Death, and Streams of Blood;
So wont the guarded Enemy to reach,
And rise Triumphant in the Fatal Breach,
Or pierce the broken Foe's remotest Lines,
The hardy Veteran with Tears resigns.
Compell'd in Crouds to meet the Fate they shun;
Thousands of fiery Steeds with Wounds transfix'd,
Floating in Gore, with their drown'd Masters mix'd,
'Midst Heaps of Spears and Standards driv'n around,
Lye in the Danube's bloody Whirl-pools drown'd.
Troops of bold Youths, born on the distant Soan,
Or sounding Borders of the Rapid Rhone;
Or where the Sein her flow'ry Fields divides,
Or where the Loire through winding Vineyards glides;
In Heaps the Rolling Billows sweep away,
And into Scythian Seas their bloated Corps convey.
From Bleinheim's Tow'rs the Gaul, with wild Affright,
Beholds the various Havock of the Fight;
His waving Banners, that so oft had stood
Planted in Fields of Death, and Streams of Blood;
So wont the guarded Enemy to reach,
And rise Triumphant in the Fatal Breach,
Or pierce the broken Foe's remotest Lines,
The hardy Veteran with Tears resigns.
Unfortunate Tallard! Oh who can name
The Pangs of Rage, of Sorrow, and of Shame,
That with mix'd Tumult in thy Bosom swell'd!
When first thou saw'st thy Bravest Troops repell'd,
The Pangs of Rage, of Sorrow, and of Shame,
That with mix'd Tumult in thy Bosom swell'd!
When first thou saw'st thy Bravest Troops repell'd,
Thine
