Page:The Campaign - Addison (1710).djvu/7

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

( 7 )

Like Hills th' aspiring Ramparts rise on high,
Like Vallies at their Feet the Trenches lye;
Batt'ries on Batt'ries guard each fatal Pass,
Threat'ning Destruction; Rows of hollow Brass;
Tube behind Tube, the dreadful Entrance keep,
Whilst in their Wombs Ten Thousand Thunders sleep:
Great CHURCHILL owns, charm'd with the glorious sight,
His March o'er-paid by such a promis'd Fight.

The Western Sun now shot a feeble Ray,
And faintly scatter'd the Remains of Day;
Ev'ning approach'd, but oh what Hosts of Foes
Were never to behold that Ev'ning close!
Thick'ning their Ranks, and wedg'd in firm Array,
The close compacted Britons win their Way:
In vain the Cannon their throng'd War defac'd
With Tracks of Death, and laid the Battle waste;
Still pressing forward to the Fight, they broke
Through Flames of Sulphur, and a Night of Smoke,
'Till slaughter'd Legions fill'd the Trench below,
And bore their fierce Avengers to the Foe.

High on the Works the mingling Hosts engage,
The Battle kindled into Tenfold Rage
With Show'rs of Bullets and with Storms of Fire
Burns in full Fury, Heaps on Heaps expire;
Nations with Nations mix'd confus'dly die,
And lost, in one promiscuous Carnage lye.

How many gen'rous Britons meet their Doom,
New to the Field, and Heroes in the Bloom!
Th' Illustrious Youths, that left their Native Shore
To March where Britons never march'd before,
(O Fatal Love of Fame! O Glorious Heat
Only Destructive to the Brave and Great!)
After such Toils o'ercome, such Dangers past,
Stretch'd on Bavarian Ramparts breathe their last.

But