Page:The Campaign - Addison (1710).djvu/4

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Great Leopold himself was seiz'd with Fear,
He gaz'd around, but saw no Succour near;
He gaz'd, and half abandon'd to Despair
His Hopes on Heav'n, and Confidence in Pray'r.

To Britain's QUEEN the Nations turn their Eyes,
On Her Resolves the Western World relies,
Confiding still, amidst its dire Alarms,
In ANNA's Councils, and in CHURCHILL's Arms:
Thrice Happy BRITAIN, from the Kingdoms rent,
To sit the Guardian of the Continent!
That sees her Bravest Son advanc'd so high,
And flourishing so near her Prince's Eye;
Thy Fav'rites grow not up by Fortune's sport,
Or from the Crimes, or Follies of a Court;
On the firm Basis of Desert they rise,
From long try'd Faith, and Friendship's Holy Ties:
Their Sov'raign's well-distinguish'd Smiles they share,
Her Ornaments in Peace, her Strength in War,
The Nation thanks them with a Publick Voice,
By Show'rs of Blessings Heav'n approves their Choice;
Envy it self is dumb, in Wonder lost,
And Factions strive who shall applaud 'em most.

Soon as soft Vernal Breezes warm the Sky
Britannia's Colours in the Zephyrs fly;
Her Chief already has his March begun,
Crossing the Provinces Himself had won,
Till the Moselle appearing from afar
Retards the Progress of the Moving War:
Delightful Stream, had Nature bid her fall
In distant Climes, far from the perjur'd Gaul;
But now a Purchase to the Sword she lyes,
Her Harvests for uncertain Owners rise,
Each Vineyard doubtful of its Master grows,
And to the Victor's Bowl each Vintage flows:
The discontented Shades of slaughter'd Hosts
That wander'd on her Banks, her Heroes Ghosts

Hop'd,