The British Pallas! who, as Homer's did
For her lov'd Diomede,
Her hero's mind with wisdom fills,
And heav'nly courage in his heart instils.
Hence thro' the thickest squadrons does he ride,
With ANNA'S angels by his side.
With what uncommon speed
He spurs his foaming, fiery steed,
And pushes on thro' midmost fires,
Where France's fortune, with her sons, retires!
Now here, now there, the sweeping ruin flies;
As when the Pleiades arise,
The southern wind afflicts the skies,
Then, mutt'ring o'er the deep, buffets th' unruly brine,
'Till clouds and water seem to join.
Or as a dyke cut by malicious hands,
O'erflows the fertile Netherlands;
Thro' the wide yawn, th' impetuous sea,
Lavish of his new liberty,
Bestrides the vale, and, with tumultuous noise,
Bellows along the delug'd plain
Pernicious to the rip'ning grain;
Far as th' horizon he destroys:
The weeping shepherd from an hill bewails the wat'ry reign.