Читать книгу The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase - Джозеф Аддисон - Страница 14

  While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,

  Proud in their number to enrol your name;

  While emperors to you commit their cause,

  And Anna's praises crown the vast applause;

  Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites,

  That in ambitious verse attempts your fights.

  Fired and transported with a theme so new,

  Ten thousand wonders opening to my view

  Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear,

  And wars and conquests fill the important year,

  Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain,

  An Iliad rising out of one campaign.

     The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride,

  His ancient bounds enlarged on every side,

  Pirene's lofty barriers were subdued,

  And in the midst of his wide empire stood;

  Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain,

  Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain,

  Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immured,

  Behind their everlasting hills secured;

  The rising Danube its long race began,

  And half its course through the new conquests ran;

  Amazed and anxious for her sovereign's fates,

  Germania trembled through a hundred states;

  Great Leopold himself was seized with fear;

  He gazed around, but saw no succour near;

  He gazed, and half abandoned to despair

  His hopes on Heaven, and confidence in prayer.

     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 advanced so high,

  And flourishing so near her prince's eye;

  Thy favourites 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-tried, faith, and friendship's holy ties:

  Their sovereign's well-distinguished smiles they share,

  Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war;

  The nation thanks them with a public voice,

  By showers of blessings Heaven approves their choice;

  Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,

  And factions strive who shall applaud them 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 perjured Gaul;

  But now a purchase to the sword she lies,

  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 slaughtered hosts,

  That wandered on her banks, her heroes' ghosts,

  Hoped, when they saw Britannia's arms appear,

  The vengeance due to their great deaths was near.

     Our godlike leader, ere the stream he passed,

  The mighty scheme of all his labours cast,

  Forming the wondrous year within his thought;

  His bosom glowed with battles yet unfought.

  The long, laborious march he first surveys,

  And joins the distant Danube to the Mæse,

  Between whose floods such pathless forests grow,

  Such mountains rise, so many rivers flow:

  The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes,

  And danger serves but to enhance the prize.

     Big with the fate of Europe, he renews

  His dreadful course, and the proud foe pursues:

  Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat,

  The sultry gales round his chafed temples beat,

  Till on the borders of the Maine he finds

  Defensive shadows and refreshing winds.

  Our British youth, with inborn freedom bold,

  Unnumbered scenes of servitude behold,

  Nations of slaves, with tyranny debased,

  (Their Maker's image more than half defaced,)

  Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil,

  To prize their queen, and love their native soil.

     Still to the rising sun they take their way

  Through clouds of dust, and gain upon the clay;

  When now the Neckar on its friendly coast

  With cooling streams revives the fainting host,

  That cheerfully its labours past forgets,

  The midnight watches, and the noonday heats.

     O'er prostrate towns and palaces they pass,

  (Now covered o'er with weeds and hid in grass,)

  Breathing revenge; whilst anger and disdain

  Fire every breast, and boil in every vein:

  Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far

  Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war,

  Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs,

  Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes,

     At length the fame of England's hero drew,

  Eugenio to the glorious interview.

  Great souls by instinct to each other turn,

  Demand alliance, and in friendship burn;

  A sudden friendship, while with stretched-out rays

  They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze.

  Polished in courts, and hardened in the field,

  Renowned for conquest, and in council skilled,

  Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood

  Of mounting spirits, and fermenting blood:

  Lodged in the soul, with virtue overruled,

  Inflamed by reason, and by reason cooled,

  In hours of peace content to be unknown,

  And only in the field of battle shown:

  To souls like these, in mutual friendship joined,

  Heaven dares intrust the cause of humankind.

     Britannia's graceful sons appear in arms,

  Her harassed troops the hero's presence warms,

  Whilst the high hills and rivers all around

  With thundering peals of British shouts resound:

  Doubling their speed, they march with fresh delight,

  Eager for glory, and require the fight.

  So the staunch hound the trembling deer pursues,

  And smells his footsteps in the tainted dews,

  The tedious track unravelling by degrees:

  But when the scent comes warm in every breeze,

  Fired at the near approach, he shoots away

  On his full stretch, and bears upon his prey.

     The march concludes, the various realms are past,

  The immortal Schellenberg appears at last:

  Like hills the aspiring ramparts rise on high,

  Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie;

  Batteries on batteries guard each fatal pass,

  Threatening destruction; rows of hollow brass,

  Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep,

  Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep:

  Great Churchill owns, charmed with the glorious sight,

  His march o'erpaid by such a promised fight.

     The western sun now shot a feeble ray,

  And faintly scattered the remains of day;

  Evening approached; but, oh! what hosts of foes

  Were never to behold that evening close!

  Thickening their ranks, and wedged in firm array,

  The close-compacted Britons win their way:

  In vain the cannon their thronged war defaced

  With tracts 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 slaughtered legions filled 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 showers of bullets and with storms of fire,

  Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire;

  Nations with nations mixed confus'dly die,

  And lost in one promiscuous carnage lie.

     How many generous Britons meet their doom,

  New to the field, and heroes in the bloom!

  The illustrious youths, that left their native shore

  To march where Britons never marched before,

  (O fatal love of fame! O glorious heat,

  Only destructive to the brave and great!)

  After such toils o'ercome, such dangers past,

  Stretched on Bavarian ramparts breathe their last.

  But hold, my Muse, may no complaints appear,

  Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear:

  While Marlborough lives, Britannia's stars dispense

  A friendly light, and shine in innocence.

  Plunging through seas of blood his fiery steed

  Where'er his friends retire, or foes succeed;

  Those he supports, these drives to sudden flight,

  And turns the various fortune of the fight.

     Forbear, great man, renowned in arms, forbear

  To brave the thickest terrors of the war,

  Nor hazard thus, confused in crowds of foes,

  Britannia's safety, and the world's repose;

  Let nations, anxious for thy life, abate

  This scorn of danger and contempt of fate:

  Thou liv'st not for thyself; thy queen demands

  Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands;

  Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join,

  And Europe's destiny depends on thine.

     At length the long-disputed pass they gain,

  By crowded armies fortified in vain;

  The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield,

  And see their camp with British legions filled.

  So Belgian mounds bear on their shattered sides

  The sea's whole weight, increased with swelling tides;

  But if the rushing wave a passage finds,

  Enraged by watery moons, and warring winds,

  The trembling peasant sees his country round

  Covered with tempests, and in oceans drowned.

     The few surviving foes dispersed in flight,

  (Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight,)

  In every rustling wind the victor hear,

  And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear,

  Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace

  Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace.

     To Donawert, with unresisted force,

  The gay, victorious army bends its course.

  The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields,

  Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields,

  (The Danube's great increase,) Britannia shares,

  The food of armies, and support of wars:

  With magazines of death, destructive balls,

  And cannons doomed to batter Landau's walls,

  The victor finds each hidden cavern stored,

  And turns their fury on their guilty lord.

     Deluded prince! how is thy greatness crossed,

  And all the gaudy dream of empire lost,

  That proudly set thee on a fancied throne,

  And made imaginary realms thy own!

  Thy troops that now behind the Danube join,

  Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine,

  Nor find it there: surrounded with alarms,

  Thou hopest the assistance of the Gallic arms;

  The Gallic arms in safety shall advance,

  And crowd thy standards with the power of France,

  While to exalt thy doom, the aspiring Gaul

  Shares thy destruction, and adorns thy fall.

     Unbounded courage and compassion joined,

  Tempering each other in the victor's mind,

  Alternately proclaim him good and great,

  And make the hero and the man complete.

  Long did he strive the obdurate foe to gain

  By proffered grace, but long he strove in vain;

  Till fired at length, he thinks it vain to spare

  His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war.

  In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand

  With sword and fire, and ravages the land,

  A thousand villages to ashes turns,

  In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns.

  To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat,

  And mixed with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat;

  Their trembling lords the common shade partake,

  And cries of infants sound in every brake:

  The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands,

  Loth to obey his leader's just commands;

  The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed,

  To see his just commands so well obeyed.

     But now the trumpet, terrible from far,

  In shriller clangors animates the war,

  Confederate drums in fuller consort beat,

  And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat:

  Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's joined,

  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.

     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,

  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.

     Behold, in awful march and dread array

  The long-expected squadrons shape their way!

  Death, in approaching terrible, imparts

  An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;

  Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,

  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.

  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

  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.

  'Twas then great Marlborough'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,

  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,

  Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,6

  Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;

  And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,

  Hides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

     But see the haughty household-troops advance!

  The dread of Europe, and the pride of France.

  The war's whole art each private soldier knows,

  And with a general's love of conquest glows;

  Proudly he marches on, and, void of fear,

  Laughs at the shaking of the British spear:

  Vain insolence! with native freedom brave,

  The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave;

  Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns,

  Each nation's glory in each warrior burns,

  Each fights, as in his arm the important day

  And all the fate of his great monarch lay:

  A thousand glorious actions, that might claim

  Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame,

  Confused in clouds of glorious actions lie,

  And troops of heroes undistinguished 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 lie unsung!

  In joys of conquest he resigns his breath,

  And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death.

     The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run,

  Compelled in crowds to meet the fate they shun;

  Thousands of fiery steeds with wounds transfixed

  Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixed,

  Midst heaps of spears and standards driven around,

  Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drowned,

  Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soane,

  Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhône,

  Or where the Seine her flowery 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 Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild affright,

  Beholds the various havoc 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!7 Oh, who can name

  The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame,

  That with mixed tumult in thy bosom swelled!

  When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repelled,

  Thine only son pierced with a deadly wound,

  Choked in his blood, and gasping on the ground,

  Thyself in bondage by the victor kept!

  The chief, the father, and the captive wept.

  An English Muse is touched with generous woe,

  And in the unhappy man forgets the foe.

  Greatly distressed! thy loud complaints forbear,

  Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war;

  Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own

  The fatal field by such great leaders won,

  The field whence famed Eugenio bore away

  Only the second honours of the day.

     With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell,

  The marshes stagnate, and the rivers swell.

  Mountains of slain lie heaped upon the ground,

  Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drowned;

  Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains

  In painful bondage and inglorious chains;

  Even those who'scape the fetters and the sword,

  Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord,

  Their raging king dishonours, to complete

  Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeat.

     From Memminghen's high domes, and Augsburg's walls,

  The distant battle drives the insulting Gauls;

  Freed by the terror of the victor's name,

  The rescued states his great protection claim;

  Whilst Ulm the approach of her deliverer waits,

  And longs to open her obsequious gates.

     The hero's breast still swells with great designs,

  In every thought the towering genius shines:

  If to the foe his dreadful course he bends,

  O'er the wide continent his march extends;

  If sieges in his labouring thoughts are formed,

  Camps are assaulted, and an army stormed;

  If to the fight his active soul is bent,

  The fate of Europe turns on its event.

  What distant land, what region, can afford

  An action worthy his victorious sword?

  Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat,

  To make the series of his toils complete?

     Where the swoln Rhine, rushing with all its force,

  Divides the hostile nations in its course,

  While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows,

  Enlarged or straitened as the river flows,

  On Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands,

  That all the wide extended plain commands;

  Twice, since the war was kindled, has it tried

  The victor's rage, and twice has changed its side;

  As oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoyed,

  Have the long summer on its walls employed.

  Hither our mighty chief his arms directs,

  Hence future triumphs from the war expects;

  And though the dog-star had its course begun,

  Carries his arms still nearer to the sun:

  Fixed on the glorious action, he forgets

  The change of seasons, and increase of heats:

  No toils are painful that can danger show,

  No climes unlovely that contain a foe.

     The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrained,

  Learns to encamp within his native land,

  But soon as the victorious host he spies,

  From hill to hill, from stream to stream he flies:

  Such dire impressions in his heart remain

  Of Marlborough's sword, and Hochstet's fatal plain:

  In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets

  Their shady coverts, and obscure retreats;

  They fly the conqueror's approaching fame,

  That bears the force of armies in his name,

     Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway

  Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey,

  Whose boasted ancestry so high extends

  That in the pagan gods his lineage ends,

  Comes from afar, in gratitude to own

  The great supporter of his father's throne;

  What tides of glory to his bosom ran,

  Clasped in the embraces of the godlike man!

  How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixed

  To see such fire with so much sweetness mixed,

  Such easy greatness, such a graceful port,

  So turned and finished for the camp or court!

  Achilles thus was formed with every grace,

  And Nireus shone but in the second place;

  Thus the great father of almighty Rome

  (Divinely flushed with an immortal bloom,

  That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestowed)

  In all the charms of his bright mother glowed.

  The royal youth by Marlborough's presence charmed,

  Taught by his counsels, by his actions warmed,

  On Landau with redoubled fury falls,

  Discharges all his thunder on its walls,

  O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight,

  And learns to conquer in the hero's sight.

     The British chief, for mighty toils renowned,

  Increased in titles, and with conquests crowned,

  To Belgian coasts his tedious march renews,

  And the long windings of the Rhine pursues,

  Clearing its borders from usurping foes,

  And blessed by rescued nations as he goes.

  Treves fears no more, freed from its dire alarms;

  And Trærbach feels the terror of his arms,

  Seated on rocks her proud foundations shake,

  While Marlborough presses to the bold attack,

  Plants all his batteries, bids his cannon roar,

  And shows how Landau might have fallen before.

  Scared at his near approach, great Louis fears

  Vengeance reserved for his declining years,

  Forgets his thirst of universal sway,

  And scarce can teach his subjects to obey;

  His arms he finds on vain attempts employed,

  The ambitious projects for his race destroyed,

  The work of ages sunk in one campaign,

  And lives of millions sacrificed in vain.

     Such are the effects of Anna's royal cares:

  By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars,

  Ranges through nations, wheresoo'er disjoined,

  Without the wonted aid of sea and wind.

  By her the unfettered Ister's states are free,

  And taste the sweets of English liberty:

  But who can tell the joys of those that lie

  Beneath the constant influence of her eye!

  Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall,

  Like heaven's indulgence, and descend on all,

  Secure the happy, succour the distressed,

  Make every subject glad, and a whole people blessed.

     Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,

  In the smooth records of a faithful verse;

  That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,

  May tell posterity the wondrous tale.

  When actions, unadorned, are faint and weak,

  Cities and countries must be taught to speak;

  Gods may descend in factions from the skies,

  And rivers from their oozy beds arise;

  Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,

  And round the hero cast a borrowed blaze.

  Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright,

  And proudly shine in their own native light;

  Raised of themselves, their genuine charms they boast,

  And those who paint them truest praise them most.