Marlborough at Blenheim



    BEHOLD in awful march and dread array
    The long extended 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, advantag'd by his post,
    Lessen his nmbers,a nd contract his host;
    Though fens and floods possest the middle space,
    That unprovok'd they would have fear'd to pass;
    Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands,
    When her proud foe rang'd on their borders stands.
    But O, my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find
    To sing the furious troops in battle join'd!

    Methinks I hear the drums 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 prov'd,
    That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd,
    Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
    Examin'd all the dreadful scenes of war:
    In peaceful thought the field of death survey'd,
    To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
    Inspir'd repuls'd battalions to engage,
    And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.

    So when an angel by divine command
    With rising tempests shaks a guilty land,
    Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past,
    Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;
    And, pleas'd th' Almighty's orders to perform,
    Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

        Joseph Addison