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.
120
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;
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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!
140
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
150
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!)
160
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.
170
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