Arthurian Miscellany: King Arthur: Part II, by Richard Blackmore [1697]

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KING ARTHUR

by

SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE

BOOK VII

    These things befel the King since Gallia 's Soil
He left to calm Brittannia 's troubled Isle.
Mean time in Gallia when their Monarch found
Himself recover'd from his painful Wound,
He with his greatest Lords in Council sate
About the Means to save the Gallic State.
Then thus the haughty Prince his Chiefs bespoke,
Our Foes who would on Gaul impose their Yoke,
Are now expos'd to your avenging stroke.
Arthur 's withdrawn Britannia to compose,
From whom his Army's Confidence arose.
His Courage, Conduct, Military Fame
Kindled within their Breasts a Martial Flame.
His Presence made them obstinate in Fight,
Eager of Conquest, and asham'd of Flight.
But since the Soul that mov'd their Troops is gone,
Leaving this Kingdom to secure his own,
Let us employ this favourable Hour
To free our Country from the British Power.
Let us advance our Ensigns valiant Franks
T'attack the Foe encamp'd on Esia 's Banks.
We shall a weak desponding Host assail,
And of a glorious Conquest cannot fail.
He ceas'd, and all his Captains did reveal
To storm the British Camp a cheerful Zeal.
Forthwith their Monarch's orders to pursue
The Generals rose and to their Posts withdrew.

   Soon as Aurora with her Rosy Light
Had streak'd the gloomy Bosom of the Night;
The Monarch rose and Eager of the War
For bloody Labour did himself prepare.
His Armour and his Arms his Servants brought
All temper'd Plate by famous Masters wrought.
His ample Shield was all of Burnish'd Gold,
Dreadful indeed, but Glorious to behold.
He lac'd his dazling Helm around his Head,
Which thro' the Air did keen Reflection spread.
His massy Sword he girded to his Wast,
And his strong Thighs in beaten Gold encas'd.
His Breast and Back in noble Armour shone
In Battle by excessive Splendor known.
Then in his hand two pondrous Spears he took,
And round him cast a Stern and Haughty Look.
On to the Field he led his Warlike Franks
And drew forth on the Plain th' embattled Ranks.
The Steeds with raging Hoofs the ground did tear,
And Chariots with their Thunder fill'd the Air.
The Troops advancing o'er the Hills did Choak
The Concave of the Sky with Dust and Smoke.
Thro' which their Armours glancing Lustre show'd,
Like radiant Sunbeams breaking thro' a Cloud.
The deep Brigades compos'd an endless Throng,
And with an awful Slowness march'd along.
Drawn out in Order they display'd from far
The sullen Pomp, and the rough Looks of War.
As when short Days and cold Autumnal Air
To some new Seat warn Swallows to repair,
The chatt'ring Race do's round their Leaders fly,
And at their Summons rendezvous on high,
And with their Numbers darken all the Sky.
So thick the Franks did on their March appear
So black and wide their Front, so long their Rear.

   Mean time the Scouts and Outguards did alarm
The British Youth, and made the Captains arm.
Who did, as order'd, in their Camp remain,
Not to attack the Foe, but to sustain.
Wise Solmar plaid a wary Gen'ral's Part
Guarding the Camp by all the Rules of Art.
He in Battalia rang'd his valiant Host
And did his Squadrons, as a Master, post,
Where no Advantage of the Ground was lost.
No prudent Measures did the Chief neglect
Their Lines against th' Invader to protect.
The chearful Captains to their Charge repair,
Each takes his Post, and waits th' advancing War.
The British Youth in Arms the Franks attend
Bravely resolv'd each other to defend.
Solmar within the Army's Center stands,
As most convenient to dispence Commands.
The left Wing Talmar did as Gen'ral sway,
The right the valiant Clovis did obey.
Now at a distance did the marching Foes
Their numerous Army's Warlike Front disclose.
Bright Jav'lins, Sabres, brazen Backs, and Breasts,
Gauntlets, contiguous Helmets, burnish'd Crests,
Long glitt'ring Spears, broad Fauchions, temper'd Shie
Spread with illustrious Horror all the Fields.

   In his bright Arms King Clotar did advance
Before his Troops, and shook his threat'ning Lance.
The haughty Warriour strait began the Fight
And furiously attack'd the Briton 's Right.
With mighty Clamour and insulting Shouts
The Gallic Squadrons storm th' advanc'd Redoubts.
The noble Clovis all their Force sustains,
Unmov'd, undaunted he his Ground maintains.
Fearless of Death he on the Rampart stands
Dispensing to his Troops sedate Commands.
Projected Stones in Rocky Tempests fly,
And Showers of Arrows fill the troubled Sky.
Their brawny Arms destructive Javelins throw,
And glitt'ring Darts on deadly Errands go.
Some to oblige the Britons to retire
Hurl on them smoking Brands, and Storms of Fire.
The Briton stands the flaming Charge, and pours
Down in Exchange vast Stones in craggy Showers.
Which with the slaughter'd Heaps the Trenches fill,
And the bold Foe at once entomb and kill.
A leafless Wood of tall erected Spears,
O'erspreading all the spacious Field appears,
As thick and close, as the young tender Trees
Shoot up their Heads in thriving Nurserys.
Undaunted they the lofty Bulwarks scale,
And with their Sword in Hand the Foe assail.
But by the valiant Britons beaten back
With mighty Slaughter they forsook th' Attack.

   Then with fresh Force the Britons to invade
Valiant Olcanor brought his bold Brigade.
All valiant Men inur'd to Arms and Blood,
Bred on the Banks of Liger 's Silver Flood.
The mighty Chief mounts up, and on the Lines
Waving his Sword in noble Armour shines.
Rollo advanc'd to beat him from his Post,
And to regain the Ground their Men had lost:
But with his utmost Force his furious Foe
On his bright Crest dealt such a dreadful Blow,
That Rollo stagg'ring in a dizzy Swoon
Fell down upon his Knees, and prest the Ground:
He lean'd upon his Buckler with his Hand,
Yet scarcely so his swimming Head sustain'd.
Then brandishing his Fauchion in the Air
The fatal Stroke the Conq'rour did prepare:
When mighty Oloron the Neustrian Chief
All fir'd with Rage flew to his Friend's Relief.
He interpos'd his generous Arms, and took
Upon his ringing Shield the falling Stroke.
The Neustrian Lord ran in, and round his Wast
With his strong Arms he hugg'd and grip'd him fast:
Then from the Ground he rais'd the Warriour up,
And hurl'd him headlong from the Rampart's Top.
Off from the high rais'd Works the mighty Gaul
Fell down, and shook the Vally with his Fall.
So vast Enceladus, as Poets tell,
Gigantic Ruin, from the Mountains fell
By which he seal'd th' Imperial Seat of Jove ,
Struck down by vengeful Thunder from above.

   Brave Miran next warm with his Youthful Flame
Up to the Charge with his Battalion's came.
To mount the Lines he straitway gave Command,
But would himself be foremost of the Band.
Vebba observing brought a mighty Stone
And from the high Entrenchment roll'd it down,
It took the noble Warriour in his Way,
And both within the Trenches buried lay.
Rosan advanc'd, Romulian 's learned Son,
Who midst the Bards had many Laurels won,
And now to martial Glory did aspire;
He climb'd the Works urg'd with a noble Fire:
With his right Hand he did his Fauchion weild,
And with his left he held his spacious Shield.
Up to the high Entrenchment's brow he rose,
Amidst the thickest Darts, and thickest Foes.
He with his Spear Radan and Tabal slew,
And down the Works Lanvallo headlong threw.
Coril the valiant Durotrigian Knight
Bravely advanc'd, and undertook the Fight.
The undaunted Frank stept forth to meet the Foe,
And aiming at his Breast a mortal Blow,
To give his Javelin Force stretcht every Vein,
Did all his Nerves, and brawny Muscles strain.
The Briton 's Shield receiv'd th' impetuous Stroke
Which in the second Fold its Fury broke.
Then with a mighty Force the Briton cast
His massy Spear, which thro' the Buckler past,
And pierc'd the Frank between the Hip and Wast.
Down to the Ground he came, and endless Night
Swam o'er his Eyes, and choak'd their vital Light.
Then to the Charge renown'd Olando flew,
Which mounting up Capellan 's Javelin slew.
With such a Vigor was the Weapon thrown,
It pierc'd his Buckler crash'd his Collar Bone,
And enter'd deep within the Warriour's Chest,
Who fell with all the Pangs of Death opprest,
And rolling down from the high Ramparts Brow
Increast the Dead, that lay in Heaps below.

   Now ghastly Ruin and Destruction reign,
And scatter'd Spoils o'erspread the bloody Plain.
The Noise of raging Cohorts, horrid Crys,
And Groans of dying Men afflict the Skys.
O'er Shields and Helms down the steep Rampart flow'd
Torrents, and Crimson Cataracts of Blood
That fill'd the Trenches with a dismal Flood.
In vain the Franks their fierce Assault repeat,
Vanquish'd with mighty Loss they still retreat.
King Clotar 's Soul was gaul'd, and all on fire
To see his Legions from th' Attack retire.
He flew along the Lines to take a View
Where he th' Assault might with Success renew.
That done he drew his Forces from the Right,
And on the Left began a second Fight.
Now did the King his fresh Battalions pour
Upon the Place he judg'd the least secure.
Great Oromel did at his Lords Command,
Lead on the Troops his Sabre in his Hand.
Thick Clouds of glitt'ring Darts and Spears they send
To break the Troops that did the Lines defend.
The Britons to repel th' invading Foe
Hurl mighty Stones, and Showers of Javelins throw.
Those bravely storm, and these as well defend,
And missive Arms in bloody Contest spend.
While they with mutual Wounds each other gall,
On this and that side mighty Numbers fall.
But Oromel shaking his trembling Lance
Commands his bold Battalions to advance.
He mounted up the Works, and with his Spear
His Passage thro' the thickest Ranks did clear.
Dispensing Death upon the Lines he stood
With Brains bespatter'd, and deform'd with Blood.
In vain the Britons did the Frank invade,
Who all around him vast Destruction made.
Nor glitt'ring Darts, nor Stones, nor Smoke, nor Fire,
Could damp the Chief, and force him to retire.
His fatal Fauchion first Glendoran felt
Fam'd for his Arms, and rich embroider'd Belt.
The dreadful Weapon did his Arm divide,
And not yet cloy'd went deep into his Side.
He fell upon the Ground and endless Night
Lay on his Eyes to interrupt the Light.

    Balandor next a noble Neustrian Lord
Felt in his bleeding Veins the Conquerour's Sword.
Down on the Neck it fell with horrid Sway,
And forc'd quite thro' the sever'd Joynt its Way.
Strait Crimson Jets sprang up from every Vein,
The gasping Head leap'd off, and bounded on the Plain.
Then Ridar, Araban , and many more,
Slain by the Frank lay weltring in their Gore.

    Othar mean while his furious Javelin threw
Which aim'd at Milo on its Message flew.
It pass'd his Buckler, and the painful Point
Wounded his Knee, and enter'd far the Joynt.
Back to the Rear off from the fierce Attack,
Strong Sebul bore him on his brawny Back.
Then Asdran cast his Dart with wondrous Force,
The glitt'ring Death with an impetuous Course
Against young Trebor 's Helmet flew direct,
Which now no longer could his Head protect:
The Dart his ample Forehead struck, and full
Between his thick-black Eyebrows pierc'd his Skull.
It reach'd the inmost Marrow of the Brain
Where we perceive our Pleasures, and our Pain.
There where the Soul upon her Throne abides,
And from our Sight conceal'd her Empire guides:
Do's various Orders various Tasks dispence,
To all th' inferiour Ministers of Sence.
Now suddain Death do's her high Seat invade,
And spreads the Courts of Life with horrid Shade.
A fatal Dart which strong Odallon cast,
Pierc'd Modar 's Shield and thro' his Temples past:
Extended on the Ground the Hero lay,
His Eyeballs struggling with departing Day.
A massy Spear which Orbal 's Arm convey'd,
Past half its Length thro' Kirton 's Shoulder Blade,
And on the Dust th' expiring Captain laid.
A pondrous Stone crush'd Cadel 's brawny Thigh,
Which made the Chief in raging Anguish ly;
But then a second struck him in the Breast,
And of its painful Prison Life releast.

   When noble Talmar saw what Numbers fell,
By the Victorious Sword of Oromel ;
And how his wavering Friends began to yield
Prest by the furious Frank, the bloody Field:
Up to the Charge he came resolv'd to chase
Th' Invader back, or dy upon the Place.
Against the Frank his massy Spear he hurl'd,
Which had dispatch'd him to th' infernal World,
Had it not glancing from his Buckler flew,
And by an erring Wound Somellan slew.
Then Oromel advancing to the Fight,
Threw his long Weapon with prodigious Might.
Th' impetuous Spear cut swiftly thro' the Sky,
And thro' his Buckler raz'd the Briton 's Thigh.
A Purple Stream spun from the painful Wound,
And striving thro' his Armour stain'd the Ground.
Talmar enrag'd both with the Shame and Smart,
Cast at th' insulting Foe his second Dart.
A prosp'rous Flight the vengeful Weapon took,
The Buckler pierc'd, and thro' the Cuitass broke:
Thro' the left Side it made its Way between
The Border of the Midriff and the Spleen.
The Warriour fainting with the fatal Wound,
Dropt his bright Arms, and fell upon the Ground.
Cold Death congeal'd his Blood within his Veins,
And clos'd his Eyes, with everlasting Chains.
Then did the Conq'rour with his Arms attack
The thickest Foes, and forc'd their Legions back.
Across the Lines he did his Troops pursue,
And as they fled prodigious Numbers slew.
The thin Remains forsook th' unequal Fight,
And sav'd themselves by ignominious Flight.
As when loud Western Winds arrive from far
Upon Batavia 's Coast to levy War:
The roaring Sea draws down its threatning Troops,
To storm the Frontier, which its Progress stops.
The foaming Files, and all the watry Ranks
Rush on to Battle, and insult the Banks.
But they contend to force their Way in vain,
The Digues unshaken all their Force sustain.
The wearied Sea murmurs at these Defeats,
Draws off its broken Billows, and retreats.

   Soon as King Clotar saw his Men retir'd,
With Rage, and Shame, and Indignation fir'd,
He drew up fresh Brigades against the Right,
Resolv'd to try his Fate again in Fight.
Advance your Ensigns to the Franks he cry'd,
And show your Valour oft in Battel try'd.
For Gallia 's Glory often you have fought,
And from the Field triumphant Laurels brought.
Now to protect her Towns and Altars show
Your fearless Arms, and here invade the Foe.
Here let us force their Lines, and make our Way,
When well resolv'd no Works your Course can stay.
Then lifting high his Shield to guard his Head,
He up the Lines his furious Cohorts led.
With double Rage they did the Works invade,
And with loud Shouts a vig'rous Onset made.
By various Ways th' undaunted Briton strove
The Foe that press'd so boldly to remove.
Some Spears, some Darts, some iron Wedges threw,
Here flaming Firebrands, here bright Javelins flew
And here vast Stones the fierce Invader slew.
Here to oppress their Sight hot Embers fell,
Here Pots with horrid Stench annoy'd their Smell.
Great Numbers perish'd in the bold Attack,
Such stout Resistance did the Britons make.
Ormansel by a craggy Stone was slain,
Which from his broken Skull dash'd out his Brain.
Bortran a Chief brave and expert in Fight,
By a projected Firebrand lost his Sight.
An iron Wedge struck strong Raymundo dead,
Beating his Helmet deep into his Head.
Valiant Mansellan cast his furious Dart,
Which thro' stout Thedon 's Shield transfixt his Heart.
Blood, Brains, and Limbs did the high Lines distain,
And all around lay squallid Heaps of slain.
The dreadful Roar did all the Region scare
Which issu'd from the brazen Throat of War.
Horrid Confusion, lamentable Moans,
Clashing of Arms and dying Warriours Groans,
Amazing Clamours, and th' insulting Threats
Of raging Captains vex'd th' Etherial Seats.
Long did the British Youth their Works maintain,
And bravely did the fierce Assault sustain.
Till worn with Toyl, and prest with numerous Troops,
Still fresh pour'd on, they left the Ramparts Tops.
King Clotar on the Works his Standard plac'd,
O'er which his throng'd Battalions raging pass'd.
They forc'd the Camp, and like a conq'ring Flood
Pass'd o'er the Banks, that long their Force withstood.
Clotar insulting at his Armys Head,
On to the Foe his eager Squadrons led.

   Mean time brave Clovis midst the Britons flew,
And urg'd the Youth the Battle to renew.
With Shame and Fury mingled in his Eyes
To the desponding Troops aloud he crys.
What mean, my Friends, their Country to defame,
And sink the Glory of the British Name?
Will you forget your Conquests? will you throw
Your Wreaths and spreading Laurels from your Brow?
Shall we be vanquish'd by a vanquish'd Foe?
Can Arthur 's Souldiers fear? were Arthur by
Would you forsake your Monarch? would you fly?
Unthoughtful Troops, say, Whither would you run,
You fly to Danger, and your Safety shun.
You cannot reach your Ships to pass the Main,
You must disperse, and be as Straglers Slain.
Come fly from Danger and the Fight renew,
You can't be safe unless you Conquer too.
He said, and strait urg'd with impetuous Rage
The Chief advanc'd th' Invaders to engage.
Upon the thickest Files the Warriour fell,
Resolv'd to dy, or Clotar to repel.
Alfonso who his progress first withstood
Fell wounded down, and welter'd in his Blood.
Within his Side he felt the fatal Dart
Between his Ribs an Inch beneath his Heart.
Another Spear was at great Boson thrown
Which pierc'd his Hip, and stuck within the Bone.
The Frank roar'd out, and tugging at the Spear
In grievous Anguish halted to the Rear.
Another Weapon did at Damon fly,
Which enter'd deep the Hollow of the Thigh;
Wriggling and wrything in tormenting Pain
He strove to draw the Weapon out in vain.
From his wide Wound a reeking River flow'd,
And all the Field around lay bath' d in blood.
Feeble and fainting with the Vast Expence,
The Warriour fell bereft of Life and Sense.
Hemar and Dival by his Arms were Slain,
And many more lay gasping on the Plain.
The British Troops who had before retir'd,
Return'd to Battle by this Chief inspir'd.

   Mean time Wise Solmar did with anxious Care
Watch all the Turns and Chances of the War.
And when he saw the Franks had forc'd the Line,
And that the Britons did the Fight decline.
Inglorious Rout and Ruin to prevent
He fresh Recruits from the Main Battle sent,
Which might the British wavering Troops sustain,
Repel the Franks and still the Fight maintain.
Then to inspire his Men to keep their Post,
And strike a terror thro' the Gallic Host,
He noble Osor from the Camp detach'd,
And with the Chief a thousand Horse dispatch'd
And to their faithful Leader gave Command
To wheel about, and take the Hilly Land
Which on the Right hand of the Camp arose,
And then to March direct upon the Foes.
Then valiant Osor did without delay
Wheel from the Rear his orders to obey.
And in his March he took a Compass round,
That undiscern'd he might possess the Ground.

   Now had brave Clovis with his fatal Blade
Amidst the Squadrons great Destruction made.
Boldly he stood to stem th' o'erflowing Tide,
Encompass'd round with Spoils on every Side.
The Franks enrag'd still fresh Battalions brought;
And prest with whole Brigades the Warriour fought.
He lopt strong Clomire 's Arm off at a blow,
And cleft the bold Orbazel 's Head in two.
Ellan who in his Strength repos'd his trust,
And Gramol in his Armour prest the Dust.
Nor did Roballon better Fortune meet,
Who lay expiring at the Conqueror's feet.
Then at fierce Maurel 's head he aim'd his Stroke,
But on the temper'd Shield his Fauchion broke.
The Franks who stood at distance round about,
Ran in to seize him with a mighty shout.
The Pious Warriour was their Captive made,
And bound in Fetters to their Camp convey'd.
Brave Trelon to prevent great Clovis Fate
Brought up his Valiant Troops but came too late.

    Clotar mean time did Erla 's Troops invade,
And thro' the Files a mighty Havock made.
The British Chief did wondrous Courage show,
But strove in vain to stop th' unequal Foe.
Young Harrel felt the Conqu'rours Weapon first,
And groaning lay, and grov'ling in the Dust.
Torman advanc'd the Monarch to sustain
But at his feet fell Dead upon the Plain.
He next his massy Spear at Corbel cast,
Thro' all the Buckler's fold's the Weapon past,
And thro' his tender Entrails passage found,
The Cawl came forth, and hung down from the Wound.
Down on the ground he fell, and gasping lay,
While Death excluded from his Eyes the Day.
Next Pricel 's Arm receiv'd the Javelin's point
Between the Elbow and the Shoulder Joynt:
The fatal Steel did the large Vein divide,
And from its Chanel sprang th' Arterial Tide.
Subsiding Life Ebb'd down apace, and left
The Youth of Motion and of Sense bereft.
Then at Hermander did his Jav'lin fly,
Which pierc'd his Buckler's Plate and Bullhide Ply
Then thro' his breast and breathing Lungs it went,
And sticking in his Back it's Fury spent.
Hermander Cough'd up from his Wheezing Chest
Fresh Frothy Blood, but strangled and Opprest
He fell upon the Ground and ratling lay,
Stretch'd out his Limbs, and groan'd his Life away.
Coman applauded for his Youthful Charms,
From all distinguish'd by his Painted Arms,
And his rich Scarlet Scarf, by luckless chance
Stood the next mark of Clotar 's fatal Lance.
So the fair Lilly and the Poppy stand
A gaudy Harvest for the Mower's hand.
Strait at his Breast the Monarch's Weapon flew,
First pierc'd his Shield, and then his Body thro'.
Th' expiring Youth fetch'd deep repeated Throbs,
And of his hopes his mournful Father robs.
Then Eldred, Ribal , and Comander dy'd,
All these were Brothers by the Mother's Side.
All from the Mountains of Brechinia came
To win in Gallic Fields immortal Fame.
Vast numbers of the British Youth lay dead,
And with their scatter'd Spoils the Ground o'erspread.

   When Solmar to relieve his Troops opprest
And the fierce Victor's Progress to arrest,
Brought the main Battle up to charge the Franks ,
And bravely did attack their foremost Ranks.
Strait thro' the Camp a noble War ensu'd,
And martial Rage was in their Breasts renew'd.
Now Front to Front the Files each other prest,
And Foot to Foot they stood, and Breast to Breast.
All on the Ground their missive Weapons threw,
And with their Swords to close Engagement flew.
Fauchions with Fauchions clash'd, Shields rub'd on Shields,
And the loud Din of War rang thro' the Fields.
Now Franks prevail, and now the British Host,
And both their Arms alternate Conquest boast
While undetermin'd Victory did shew
Such Doubtfulness, as trembling Needles do,
When they between two courting Loadstones stay,
To neither yield, yet neither disobey.

   At last with bloody Toyl the Britons worn,
And with unequal Numbers overborn
Began to shrink, while Clotar 's ravening Sword
With undistinguish'd Rage around devour'd:
When on the neighb'ring Hill upon the Right
The Troops detach'd by Solmar march'd in Sight.
Great Osor who the foremost did appear
In Stature, Presence, Arms, and martial Air,
Of all the Heros of the British Host,
The God-like Arthur did resemble most.
Then Solmar cry'd aloud, see you your King,
Arthur 's arriv'd, and do's sure Conquest bring.
Loud Shouts of Joy rang thro' the British Camp,
And struck thro' Clotar 's Troops a shiv'ring Damp.
Those reassume the War with double Rage,
And these but faintly with the Foe engage.
Wavering a while they stood, but then gave way,
And left th' unfinish'd Triumph of the Day.
The Gallic Troops did by their Flight proclaim,
How much they fear'd Victorious Arthur 's Name.
The conq'ring Britons did the Franks pursue,
Hung on their Rear, and mighty Numbers slew.
Only King Clotar still refus'd to yield,
But with his single Arms maintain'd the Field.
Solmar advanc'd to charge th' undaunted King,
And at his Head did his bright Javelin fling;
His blazing Shield the furious Weapon struck
Pass'd the first Fold, but in the second stuck.
Then did the Frank project his pondrous Spear
Which hiss'd along, and cut the liquid Air.
Thro' his right Leg in burnish'd Steel encas'd,
Across the brawny part the Weapon past.
The Veins that deep for sure Protection lay,
The fatal point divided in it's way.
Its Springs broke up, out gush'd the leaping Blood,
And in his reeking Life the fainting Warriour stood.
The British Youth ran in to bring Relief
And from the Field bore off the wounded Chief.
Albert the first who rush'd in to withstand
The furious Frank, fell by his fatal Hand.
Bodal and Eldan went undaunted on,
To save the General's Life, but lost their own.
But when the Monarch saw the Battel lost,
Himself alone left to engage an Host,
He grew enrag'd, but forc'd at last to yield
With bitter Execrations left the Field.
So much did Arthur 's Name the Battel Sway,
And chang'd so soon the Fortune of the Day.
Their own great losses and the Evening Shade,
From long pursuit the British Youth disswade.
For Rest with Joy they to their Tents return,
But Clovis Chains and Solmar 's Wound they mourn.
Solmar in pain had past the restless Night,
And when the Sun had spred the Hills with Light,
Exhausted with expence of Blood expir'd,
Lamented much, and much by all desir'd.

   Brave Osor next in Power and Honour, sent
To call the British Captains to his Tent.
Soon hither all the great Commanders came,
All high in Office, and of Martial Fame.
Th' Assembly made a Sound like that of Waves
Roll'd on the Shore, or Winds in hollow Caves.
Or that which high Augusta 's Merchants make,
When in their frequent Burse they Counsel take.
What Riches to their Neighbours they shall lend,
What British Growth to Foreign Climates send.
What Luxury to fetch, what wealthy Stores,
Or from the Asian, or the Afric Shores.
To which Pole next their numerous Fleets shall run,
If to the Rising, or the Setting Sun.

   The throng'd Assembly straight in Council sate
Fit measures for their Safety to debate.
Osor arose, and with deliberate words
He thus bespoke th' Allys, and British Lords.

   Twice has the Moon her changing Face renew'd
Since we our Monarch's Orders have pursu'd.
Expecting his return from Albion 's Coast,
We with Defensive Arms have kept our Post.
And twice seven days are past since certain Fame
That Albion was compos'd first hither came.
That Arthur was embark'd to cross the Main
In Gallic Fields new Laurels to obtain.
But when in Prospect of the Neustrian Strand
A sudden Tempest beat him off from Land:
So those relate who on the Mountains stood,
And saw his ships advancing thro' the Flood.
Yet still his Ships are on the Ocean tost,
Or forc'd on some unhospitable Coast,
Else had the King return'd to Neustria 's Shore
And we had seen our Monarch long before.
So long we had not labour'd in Suspence,
Nor wanted Arthur 's Arms for our Defence.
Our heartless Troops impatient grown declare
They would return, and leave th' unfinish'd War.
Meantime our Leaders Absence makes the Foe
More insolent, and bold in Battle grow.
Captains advise, what Measure we shall take,
Shall we return and Gallia 's Realm forsake,
Or shall we here entrench'd our Camp defend,
And still th' Arrival of our Prince attend.

   He said, wise Gotrick rose, and to the rest
Thus with majestic Air himself exprest.
The Stratagem which did the Franks defeat
We can no more, illustrious Chiefs, repeat.
The Franks who Arthur 's Presence then believ'd,
By busy Fame will soon be undeceiv'd.
Then well we know that no Britannic Lord
Is able to withstand King Clotar 's Sword.
Should he again our high Entrenchments scale,
His numerous Squadrons may at last prevail.
Our two great Heros lest in chief Command,
Who could if any, Clotar 's Rage withstand
These we, alas, have lost. Great Solmar 's slain,
Brave Clovis do's in Clotar 's Power remain.
Thrice happy Man if midst the fighting Bands
Thou hast expir'd and scap'd the Tyrant's Hands!
These were the Chiefs on whom we did depend
As Men whose Arms our Bulwarks would defend.
Our weary Troops who did demand before
Their native Land do now demand it more.
Prest by our hard Affairs we may presume
King Arthur 's Leave to lead our Squadrons home.
The pious Prince our Conduct will approve,
Who to his People thus express our Love.

   He said. When mighty Talmar Silence broke
And thus the Lords and valiant Chiefs bespoke.
Here did our Pious Monarch bid us stay,
And his Command what Chief dares disobey?
We must persist our Bulwarks to defend,
And Arthur 's coming in the Camp attend.
Shall we the Honour of our Isle deface,
And show our selves a weak, degenerate Race?
How will the Neighbour States our Arms despise,
And mock our ignominious Cowardize?
How will our Countrymen upbraid our Flight,
And ask what Monsters did our Youth affright?
Our Wives and Children swarming on the Strand
Will mock our Fears, and beat us off from Land.
How will th' observing World our Conduct blame?
How will th' unhappy Christians curse our Name,
Whom from their Chains we promis'd to release,
When our Retreat their Suff'rings shall encrease?
For thus provok'd th' inexorable Foe
Will add more Weight, and multiply their Woe
What Plagues, what Desolation must o'erwhelm
Both the Neustrasian and the Gallic Realm,
If we no longer will our Arms engage,
But give them up a Prey to Clotar 's Rage?
Let us prevent their Ruin, and our Shame,
Express our Pity, and advance our Fame.
Fixt and resolv'd let us our Bulwarks guard,
Success at last our Patience will reward.

   He said. And Trelon thus himself exprest.
What Madness Britons has your Minds possest?
Will you betray your Monarch's righteous Cause,
Defame your Isle, and yet expect Applause?
Scar'd with phantastic Terrours will you run,
And leave a War with such Success begun?
Fear seems a Passion wise and eloquent,
But makes the Danger which it would prevent.
Let us the Passion own, and not disguise.
In Vertue's Shape inglorious Cowardise.
For running home what Reasons e'er you bring,
Wisdom's the grave Pretence, but Fear's the thing.
We still in Gallia may in Safety stay,
Defend our Bulwarks, and our Prince obey.
Vainly 'tis urg'd the Britons are dismay'd,
'Tis fearful Captains make their Men afraid.
Your Courage will confirm your wavering Troops,
Inspire new Vigor, and revive their Hopes.
Blame not the British Youth who still obey,
And boldly follow, when you lead the Way.
Then laying on his mighty Sword his Hand,
He cry'd, the Man that leads the foremost Band
From out the Camp shall by this Fauchion dy,
He ne'er shall scape, who first attempts to fly.

   He said. And straitway Coril thus reply'd,
Meer Courage is to Madness near ally'd,
A Brutal Rage, which Prudence do's not guide.
Cool Sense and Judgment with a noble Fire
To make a finish'd Leader must conspire.
Some by a wise Retreat have more Renown
Than other Captains by a Conquest won.
'Tis blind Perverseness in our Camp to stay,
And not to go when Prudence leads the Way.
Wisdom is no Defect of Martial Heat
When Reason bids, 'tis Manly to retreat.
For our Return no Reasons need be us'd
Than those which Gotric has before produc'd.
I must declare for breaking up, to shun
The mighty Risk which staying here we run.
And if some Chiefs will this as Fear condemn,
We must object their Want of Sense to them.
We are not aw'd by Threats, and haughty Words,
Nor do we think we wear unequal Swords.

   He ceas'd. And strait immoderate Heats arose,
While chol'rick Chiefs each other did oppose.
Some for retreating, some for Stay contend,
Some would forsake, and some their Camp defend.
When Maca saw the Strife still hotter grew,
Fearing the Dangers which might thence ensue,
He rose, and thus th' assembled Chiefs bespoke,
Britons; too much each other you provoke.
A calm Debate our Contests might decide,
But sharp Reproaches more your Minds divide.
Your Dangers by your Discords you augment,
And bring the Mischiefs which you would prevent.
'Tis prudent then this Contest to adjourn,
And when the dawning Morning shall return,
Our Heats compos'd with Rest, our Minds sedate,
In Council we'll revive this great Debate.
He said. And from the most receiv'd Applause,
Who cry'd adjourn, and strait the Council rose.

BOOK VIII

   TheBritish Captains thus with Choler boyl'd,
And these Contentious Heats the Camp Embroil'd.
Clotar mean time who full of Rage and Shame,
Back to Lutetia for Protection came,
Thus to his Servants cry'd; let Clovis come,
I'll see the Rebel and pronounce his Doom.

   Strait did the bloody Guards in Triumph bring,
The Pious Clovis to the Gallic King.
When Clotar first the Captive Lord espy'd
Insultingly he smil'd, and thus he cry'd.
Thou dost not only Gallia 's Gods reject
Adhering to the Christians impious Sect,
But Trait'rous to thy King art not afraid
To call in Foreign Arms, and give them Aid,
Striving with blackest Malice to subdue
Thy Nat'ral Lord, and Native Country too.
But now just Heav'n has giv'n thee to my hand
T'inflict that Vengeance, which thy Crimes demand.
Speak what Infernal Fury lash'd thee on,
What made thee hope thy Soveraign to dethrone?

   He said. And Clovis fearless thus reply'd,
Tis true I still have Pagan Gods defy'd.
I ne'er would Incence on their Altars throw,
Nor in their Groves, nor in their Temples bow.
I ne'er have Worship to your Idols shewn
Stupid, as are the Rocks from whence they're hewn.
Gods Deify'd by Superstitious Fear,
Gods whom Creating Statuarys reer.
Who Pyrrhus and his Wife have far outdone,
Transforming into Gods the senseless Stone.
To th' unseen Mind I've still Obedience paid,
Who this, and those bright Worlds above us made.
This Independent Being I adore,
One God I rev'rence, but revere no more.
He in whose Power and Goodness I believe
Will from your Rage this Mortal Life retrieve
Or in Exchange will Life Eternal give.
I own, I did with humble prayer perswade
The Pious Briton Gallia to invade,
His Arms in our Deliv'rance to employ
To save a Realm you labour to destroy.
How have you triumph'd and Insulting stood
With Garments rowl'd in Slaughter'd Christians blood?
Haughty Proscriptions, Murders, Banishment
And all the Plagues that Tyrants can Invent,
At your Command the Christians have destroy'd,
Yet your Insatiate Rage was never cloy'd.
Tormentors with their cruel labour tir'd
To gain their own, the Suff'rers rest desir'd.
Your frighted People from their Towns are fled,
And Prisons only are inhabited.
All Europe ecchoes with Lutetia 's Groans,
And every Land receives her straggling Sons.
We justly arm'd to set our Country free
From unexampl'd Rage, and barb'rous Cruelty.
Subjects should Kings revere and raise their Fame,
But cruel Monsters lose that sacred Name.
A Father do's not arm'd with lawless Power,
Instead of feeding them, his Sons devour.
Wolves should they Crooks usurp, no Shepherds are,
Nor Spoilers Princes, tho' they Scepters bear.
Wild Violence, and Power outrageous grown
Proclaim the Tyrant, and the King dethrone.
Scepter'd Destroyers do themselves depose,
And all their Right to our Obedience lose.
This is your Case, this sinking Gallia 's Fate,
We, mov'd by Pity to her Suff'ring State
Call'd in the Generous Briton with Intent
Her universal Ruin to prevent.
This I have done, and Glory in the Deed,
And tho' I fall may Arthur 's Arms succeed.
Stedfast in Christian Faith I've always stood,
And ready am to seal it with my Blood.
I will not Life from Clotar e'er demand
Nor ask Deliv'rance from his cruel Hand.
For my expected Suff'rings I prepare,
You've Power indeed, but want a Heart to spare.

   More had he said, but Clotar furious grew,
And flashing Fire from his fierce Eyeballs flew.
The Captive's Words like Spears the Monarch gor'd,
And stung with Guilt and Rage aloud he roar'd:
What Pity 'tis that Man but once can dy,
That Life when urg'd begins so soon to fly?
But oh, may thine prove tough and obstinate,
Mighty to bear repeated Strokes of Fate.
May'st thou be hard, resolv'd and bold in Pain,
Able my choicest Torments to sustain.
May baffled Tortures scarcely wast thy Breath,
And mayst thou late escape my Hand by Death.
May all thy Nerves be firm, thy Muscles strong,
Thy Heartstrings sound to bear thy Suff'rings long.
Oh, may Gigantic Force and Vigor show
That thou uncommon Racks canst undergo.
Strive not by Death basely thy self to save,
Be constant on the Wheel, and prove in Torment brave.
For thou canst only make this Recompence,
A flight one too compar'd with thy Offence.

   Away the noble Captive was convey'd,
And bound with iron Links in Prison laid,
To be expos'd soon as the Morning came
To cruel Torments, and to publick Shame.
Unmov'd, unchang'd great Clovis did sustain
His heavy Doom and ignominious Chain.
As calm as Peace, as heav'nly Seraphs mild
He view'd the Racks, and on his Torments smil'd.
With easy Arms his Fetters he embrac'd,
And thought himself with Marks of Honour grac'd.
He thought it noble Matter of Applause,
To dy for Gallia's, and the Christian Cause.

   What Honour is it, did the Hero cry,
To dy for him that did for Sinners dy?
To rescue Mortals from the Gulph of Hell,
And raise them up to Heav'n from whence they fell?
All our laborious Services are slight,
And all our heavy Sufferings wondrous light
When in a just and equal Ballance thrown
Against th' excessive Bliss, and massy Crown
Of pondrous Glory, which attends at last
The constant Martyr's Zeal and Labour past.
The Way to Canaan by those Martyrs trod
Lys thro' a red amazing Sea of Blood.
Martyrs, Elijah- like, to Heav'n aspire
On ruddy Steeds, and rapid Cars of Fire.
Here on a bleak tempestuous Shore I stand,
Cast on a wild, unhospitable Land,
Which for Disorder do's on Chaos joyn,
And for its Guilt do's close on Hell confine;
A wastful, howling, horrid Wilderness,
Which Beasts of Prey in humane Shape possess:
So monstrous dark that Heav'n's recoiling Light
Bounds from the Surface of the solid Night.
On the other side appears a glorious Shore
Enrich'd with glitt'ring Gemms and golden Oar.
The Land is all a native Theater,
Where flowry Plains, and spicy Groves appear.
A Paradise blest with reviving Beams
Immortal Fruit, and sweet, Celestial Streams.
Where Love and Peace and Friendship free from stain,
Pure Light, and Truth, and Joy unmixt with Pain,
Oh happy Regions! do for ever reign.
To gain this Blissful Land, this Golden Coast,
Death' s interposing Channel must be crost.
'Tis true the gloomy Flood afflicts the Sight,
And self preserving Nature dos affright.
The Stygian Tide a dismal Horror spreads,
And dusky Billows rear their threat'ning Heads.
Nature upon the Brink dos shiv'ring stand,
And dreads the Passage to the Blissful Land.
She willing still terrestrial Joys to keep,
Starts at the awful Prospect of the Deep.
She spins out time, and lingers in Debate,
And dos a thousand Ways Expostulate,
Displeas'd to try a new, and Unknown State.
By Various shifts she labours to Evade
The frightful Gulph, and Solitary Shade.
But Nature is Controul'd by Reason's sway,
Reason's her Guide, Reason must lead the Way.
I'll plunge amidst the Flood, and fearless stride
To gain the happy Shore across the tyde,
Or with bold Arms th' opposing Waves divide.
What if I sink, the shore I cannot miss,
We dive by Death, but to Emerge in Bliss.
The chiefest Terrors which in Death we dread,
Are in our own Imagination bred.
We are not pleas'd a glorious World to know,
Whereof our Senses no Impression show.
Reluctant Sense declines the untrodden Path,
Tho aided both by Reason and by Faith.
Empty phantastic Horrors hence arise
Which fright the vulgar, not the brave and wise.
Th' advancing Shades of Death weak Nature scare,
As hideous Forms and Monsters drawn in Air:
Which issuing forth from the dark Womb of Night
Impregnated with Fear, weak Minds affright.
If tender Infants who imprison'd stay
Within the Womb, prepar'd to break away,
Were conscious of themselves, and of their State,
And had but Reason to sustain Debate,
The painful Passage they would dread, and show
Reluctance to a World they do not know.
They in their Prisons still would chuse to ly
As backward to be born, as we to dy.
This is the Christian's Case detain'd on Earth,
Whose Death is nothing, but his Heav'nly Birth.
Yet still he fears the dark and unknown Way,
Still backwards shrinks, still meditates Delay,
And fresh Excuses finds for longer Stay.

   The pious Peer in such divine Debate
Prepar'd himself for his approaching Fate.
His Wife mean time fair Merula, a Dame
Of wondrous Beauty, who when Clovis came
To Albion 's Isle, in Gaul was left behind;
Now to the Prison came her Lord to find.
Fir'd with her Heav'nly Charms great Clovis burn'd,
And she to his an equal Flame return'd.
None to each other did more constant prove,
None more admir'd, and fam'd for mutual Love.
Long she unmov'd had born her heavy Chains,
Long underwent the most afflicting Pains,
But tir'd at last, her Torments to evade
Her Saviour she renounc'd, her Faith betray'd.
The Pagan Altars once so much abhor'd,
And Gods of various Kinds she now ador'd.
Yet did she constant to her Clovis prove,
Apostate from her Faith, but not her Love.
Her Lord thus sentenc'd, she to Clotar went
Brave Clovis Death and Suff'rings to prevent.
And knowing nothing could his Life procure
Unless the Christian Faith he did abjure,
She thought as once revolted Eve had done,
Her Lord by her Perswasion might be won
To break th' Allmighty's sacred Law, and eat
When offer'd by her Hand, forbidden Meat.
And oh! how oft do Female Charms prevail
Ev'n when the brave and wisest they assail?
She therefore undertook by Clotar 's Leave
To try the pious Clovis to deceive;
To form his Mind the Christian's God to quit,
And to the Pagan Idols to submit.
Her Son and Daughter both of tender Age
The Mother brought, hoping they might engage
The Hero's Pity and Paternal Love,
And from his Breast his settled Purpose move.

   Thus Clovis she bespoke.
Press'd by resistless Love I hither come
To rescue Clovis, and avert his Doom.
Too great a Zeal, and Labour can't be shown
To save a Life far dearer than my own.
'Tis in your Power your Suff'rings to evade,
Oh, that it were in mine too, to perswade
My Clovis that Deliv'rance to receive,
Which here with Joy I bring by Clotar 's Leave.

   Here Clovis interrupting her reply'd,
Oh Merula have you your God deny'd,
Have you renounc'd the Christians solemn Vow,
And learnt before the Pagan Shrines to bow,
And are you in your Guilt so stupid grown,
So like the Gods you worship, Wood and Stone,
That to my Presence you thus boldly press
No inward Gripes and no Remorse express?
Should not your Crime in Crimson Blushes glow?
Should not your Eyes Shame and Confusion show?
Amazing Power of Guilt! one great Offence
Benumbs the Mind, and stupifys the Sense,
Binds fast reluctant Conscience with its Charms,
And of its Sting the Worm within disarms.
But, Merula, your Message tell, prepare
Your Golden Bait, and spread th' alluring Snare.
No Question you your Guilt would propagate,
And make me quit my Faith to shun my Fate.
Speak, is not this your cruel, kind Intent
To change my Faith my Torments to prevent?

   Then, beauteous Merula reply'd, 'tis true
The Means to save my Clovis I pursue.
No Joy but you, no Life but yours I own,
I must survive my self, when you are gone.
How strong, how pure, how bright a Flame of Love
To Clovis always in my Bosom strove?
You're conscious of my Passion, you must know
That from your Presence all my Pleasures flow.
If you withdraw your Light, how black a Shade
Must the sad Region of my Breast invade?
This World's a Heav'n to me when you are here,
And Heav'n will more be Heav'n to meet you there.
What I could ever Joy or Pleasure call
'Twas you I tasted, you enjoy'd in all.
The Spring from whence your Stream of Life proceeds
My Veins with vital Warmth and Vigor feeds.
My Life's dependent and precarious Fire
Must quickly cease, should you its Source retire,
As Evening Rays forsaken soon expire.
Deserted and defrauded of Supply
Streams flow no longer, when the Fountain's dry.
Should I behind my Clovis here remain,
I should of Life's uneasy Load complain,
And drown'd in Tears drag on th' encumbring Chain.
How sad, and hard a Task it is to live
When I must all that Life endears, survive?
No wonder then I strive a Life to save,
Where I such vast Concern and Int'rest have.

   I can your Freedom and your Ease procure,
Nor need you e'er the Christian Faith abjure.
You need but only to their Altars go,
And on the Flames a little Incense throw.
Th' Almighty dos you know the Heart require,
And you may that preserve for him entire.
When you to Images respect shall show,
Your Mind you need not with your Body bow.
In every place th' Eternal dos abide,
And therefore must in Statues too reside.
When therefore you shall Adoration pay,
Your Mind may thro' the Image make its way,
And Worship to the God within convey.
We do not Worship to a Stone demand,
To Gods created by the Carver's hand.
The God we Honour has his Throne above,
To whom the Image dos our Rev'rence move.
Presents we prize, and Pictures we commend,
Because they mind us of our absent Friend.
By Nature we to Nature's Lord arise,
Who dwells in Bliss conceal'd from mortal Eyes.
We view his Image stamp'd on Nature's Face,
And by the Creatures to their Maker pass.
This beauteous World, and all the rest above,
Were made to raise our Wonder and our Love.
The noblest Use that we in Creatures find
Is to the first great Cause, t'advance the Mind.
The Sun himself whose bright revealing Ray
To it's more glorious Author shews the way,
Serves Mortals more by this, than when it's Light
From these dark Seats removes the Shades of Night.
We can't Divine, Essential Glory see,
Nor view th' Almighty's naked Majesty.
We can't th' unequal Object comprehend;
The Creatures must their help to Reason lend,
While step by step it dos to Heav'n ascend.
Wide Nature's Frame and all her steddy Laws
Lead thinking Man to th' Independent Cause.
And then the Creatures have their noblest Use,
When thoughts Divine they in our Minds produce.
Now in the Sacred Images we rear,
This pious Use more plainly do's appear.
These in our Breasts do warm Devotion raise,
And mind us to advance th' Eternal's praise.
They move our Minds his Greatness to adore,
To love his Goodness, and revere his Power.
They to his Duty stupid Man excite,
And when he aims at Heav'n assist his Flight.
And those who know the high and steepy way,
The painful steps that reach Celestial Day,
Will not of friendly Succors be afraid,
But thankfully receive the proffer'd Aid.
Our Senses to the Mind while lodg'd in Clay,
Do all their various Images convey.
Things that we tast, and feel, and see, afford
The Seeds of Thought with which our Minds are stor'd.
We therefore must the Deity conceive
By such an Image as our Senses give.
Spirits to us this only way are known,
And such Conceptions we must form or none.
Why then should Statues be condemn'd, design'd
To raise Devotion in a Pious Mind,
When if we think of God, within our Thought
Some Image of his Being must be wrought?
The Sacred Volumes oft th' Almighty name
As having Parts and Limbs and Humane Frame.
Th' Eternal to our Minds by Words and Ways
Adapted to our Sense himself conveys,
Whose Being still must be from Man conceal'd,
If not by means that fit our State reveal'd.
These Arguments my yielding Reason sway'd,
When Worship first to Images I paid.
And these with Clovis too would soon succeed,
Were first your Mind from Prepossession freed.
Oh, let no groundless Prejudice oppose
The Light, that from so pure a Fountain flows.
May these kind Beams dispel the Clouds, and find
An unobstructed Passage to your Mind.
Thus you'll preserve your Life with guiltless Art,
And still remain a Christian in your Heart.

   She ceas'd, and Pious Clovis thus reply'd:
In vain these artful Snares have oft been try'd.
These are the Nets your crafty Priests prepare,
The timorous and th' uncautious to ensnare.
Such Arguments no Conquests could procure,
If unassisted by the Tyrant's Power.
If e'er these Feeble Arms Impression make,
They from the Sword their Edge and Sharpness take.
Affrighted Nature's willing to receive
The dreadful Reason's Death and Torment give.
She'll by a thousand shifts her Post maintain,
And feels no Argument like that of Pain.
The clearest Light and Reason will displease,
Which thwart our Int'rest and disturb our Ease.
A lawless Rout of Passions still engage
In Nature's Cause with hideous Noise and Rage.
Reason is in the Tumult quite supprest,
And still the safest side we think the best.
But let Tyrannic Power stand Neutral by,
You'll soon the weakness of your Cause descry.

   You that would still th' Almighty Being own,
And yet to Idols bow and Gods unknown,
Delude your selves with an absurd pretence,
That still your Minds preserve their Innocence.
We to th' Eternal Mind should Honour pay,
As he himself prescribes the Rule and Way.
No Modes of Adoration he'll admit,
Because our wanton Fancy thinks 'em fit.
No other Forms of Worship should be sought,
But those alone observ'd which he has taught.
He oft declares you shall no Image make,
And asks from whence you'll his Resemblance take.
This is his Will, this his commanding Word,
Shall Man contend and call his Law absurd?
Subjects are to obey, and not dispute
A Will so pure, a Power so absolute.
In vain alas deluding Priests pretend,
That they their Worship to th' Allmighty send.
That all the Honour to the Image paid
Is thro' the Marble up to Heav'n convey'd:
Then Dan 's and Bethel 's Calves would be excus'd,
Which by the Tribes were for Devotion us'd.
They mighty Zeal to Jacob 's God exprest,
To honour him proclaim'd a solemn Feast,
And Worship by the Calves to Heav'n addrest.
When Aaron by the murm'ring Hebrews sway'd
A Golden God of molten Ear-rings made,
'Twas reer'd in Honour of th' Allmighty Hand,
That brought their Youth from Egypt 's cruel Land.
Yet in the sacred History you read
How God incens'd condemn'd the impious Deed.
When you Devotion to an Idol show,
And on the Altar od'rous Incense throw,
You make the Heathen Worshiper believe
That you and he like Adoration give:
You thus confirm the Pagan Votary
And not asserting God, your God deny.
The Mind by Words and Actions is exprest,
And secret Reservations in the Breast
Whereby you think to save your Innocence
Make Hypocrites, and add a fresh Offence.
The jealous God will not his Honour part,
Nor share with Idols a divided Heart.
'Tis not enough to own him in your Breast,
He must in publick boldly be confest.
Th' eternal Mind no prudent Neutral knows,
We for his Cause declare, or are his Foes.
The Managers who cautious Measures use,
And fain would neither Sin nor Suff'ring chuse.
Who like a crafty Statesman to provide
For his own Safety fawns on either Side.
These most th' Eternal's Jealousy provoke,
At these his Vengeance aims the deadliest stroke.
The Hypocrite defeats his own Design,
Splits on the Rock he labours to decline.
He can't himself by base Complyance save
The Secret to be safe, is to be brave.
We are to fiery Tryals brought to prove
Our stedfast Faith, our Courage, and our Love.
To shew th' Heroic Confessors are fit
With Glory crown'd on Heav'nly Thrones to sit.
To draw amaz'd Spectators to believe
That Cause divine, that could such Courage give.
You know, if you in Heart a Christian are,
Our Heav'nly Founder often did declare
The Marks that must his faithful Friends approve
Are patient Suff'ring and their mutual Love.
His Precept, and Example form'd his Friends
For all the Sorrow that his Cause attends.
He oft foretold them their approaching Fate
And what they must expect from Tyrants Hate.
He set the price, and told what Heav'n would cost,
And what to gain that Kingdom must be lost.
And this the constant Martyrs understood
Who swam to Heav'n thro' a red tyde of Blood.
Some were with Wounds, and cruel Scourging try'd,
Some in the Flames with God-like Courage dy'd.
Some were on Racks and Wheels in pieces drawn,
Some ston'd to Death, and some asunder Sawn.
To some a Refuge from the Tyrant's Sword,
The Dens of milder Beasts did oft afford.
They oft Deliv'rance nobly did refuse,
And Vertue when 'twas least inviting chuse.
Conscious what Bliss and Life Eternal meant,
The blest Reward of hours divinely spent,
And what a Heaven 'tis, to be Innocent;
They could the World with brave Neglect despise,
And the vain Joys which charm deluded Eyes.
They with the just did rather Suff'rings bear,
Then guilty Pleasures with th' unrighteous share.
They laid down Life in Vertue's just Defence,
Dear Life, but not so dear as Innocence.
But Merula could these blest Saints have taught
Their Torments to escape without a Fault.
The specious Arguments which you advance
Will make them Martyrs to their Ignorance.
Had those blest Men your nice distinctions known,
They to the Idol might have Worship shown;
For if their inward Thought did not consent,
The Guilt no farther than the Body went;
And thus their Innocence had been secure,
And while the Knee had err'd, the Heart been pure.
Those who alledge we cannot form a Thought
But by some Image thro' our Senses brought;
And therefore we th' Almighty must conceive,
By some Idea which the Senses give,
Will soon th' erroneous Argument detect,
When on their own Conceptions they reflect.
Sense do's, 'tis true, it's Object first enjoy,
And that first Object do's our Thoughts employ.
All Knowledge previous to the acts of Sense
And in-born Notions, are a vain Pretence.
But then, 'tis true, that when our Minds embrace
Those Images which thro' our Senses pass,
They stop not there, but quickly higher go,
And on themselves reflecting Know they Know.
They their own Actions oft review, and thence
Conceptions form above the Sphear of Sense.
They by their Operations must conclude
They are with Life, and Thought, and Choice endu'd,
And hence the Intellectual World is known,
While we conceive their Nature by our own.
Then climbs the Mind to the first glorious Cause,
And his bright Image by this Model draws.
Freedom of Choice, pure Intellectual Light,
Power Independent, Goodness Infinite,
To form the great Idea we unite.
All other Images for him design'd
Debase the Glory of th' Eternal Mind;
Degrade his high Perfections, and infuse
Unworthy Thoughts, and Vulgar Minds abuse.

   He ceas'd. Fair Merula reply'd. Your Breast
Is, as I fear'd, too strongly Prepossest,
To be with new tho' truer Lights imprest.
When to Dispute a Woman takes the Field,
A Man believes he can't in Honour Yield.
I am not here a Match, the Righteous Cause
From my Defence great disadvantage draws.
But now if Clovis who's in Reason strong,
Wise in Debate, and Eloquent of Tongue,
Would change the Scene, and plead my Cause, how clear
How pure, he'd make my Innocence appear?
Such is your force in Reasoning, such your Art
That Error you to seeming Truth convert.
The strangest Paradox sustain'd by you
Ev'n to Sagacious Minds appears as true.
But why, alass, should Clovis thus Employ
Such noble Gifts their Owner to destroy?
If Reason can't let Love your Breast incline,
Oh, Pity your sad fate, or Pity mine.
What Words shall tell, what Accents shall relate,
If you are gone, my Lamentable State?
What will become of wretched Merula ,
What shall I do, whither my Self convey?
What can my tedious Life afford to please,
What can asswage my Grief, or Sorrows Ease?
I must to unfrequented places creep,
And seek out secret Corners where to Weep.
I must complain to Woods, and Winds, and Air,
Conscious, alass, in vain of my Despair.
Forsaken, helpless, ruin'd, sore distrest
With mighty Woe, and Life it self Opprest,
I must behind you stay, and make my Moan
To Gallic Tyrants, or to Lords unknown.
Oh, let the dear Engagements of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move.
You warm Affection once to me exprest,
And thought me fair, pretended so at least.
What dear, engaging, tender things you said,
Which in my Breast the glowing Passion fed?
What Pleasure in my Presence did you show,
And how was I still pleas'd to see you so?
And do's my Presence now so much offend,
That you to part for ever, thus contend?
Or if your Love continue, can you go
And leave me in so sad a Scene of Woe?
But if from me you can so easie part,
Let these your tender Children melt your Heart.
Think how much Woe these Infants must attend,
Without a Father, and without a Friend.
See that dear Boy, how the sweet Creature stands?
How just like you, he moves his little Hands?
See your own Shape, your very Eyes, and Face,
He has your Air, your Step, and every Grace.
Then, Clovis, on his Sister cast your look,
In whom you once such wondrous pleasure took.
How oft you kist and Danc'd her on your Knee,
And said you lov'd the Child, because she look'd like me.
These are next you, of all my Joys the chief,
But if you die will give me no Relief,
But minding me of you, revive my Grief.
When on them I shall look theyll but invite
New floods of Tears, and fresh Complaints excite.
Can't these endearing Pledges of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move?
Can you these sweet Delights chuse to forsake,
And from the helpless Babes their Father take?
Think how their Lives they must in Sorrow spend,
Who will you leave your Orphans to defend?
You know your Foes will labour to Oppress
Your helpless Widow, and your Fatherless.
Can such a Father e'er Unnatural prove,
Cease to be tender, and forget to Love?
Can you lay by th' Indulgent Parent's care,
And leave these Babes abandon'd to despair?
At such Reflections do's not Nature start,
And try at every Spring to touch your Heart?
Do's not soft Pity's fire begin to burn,
Do not your yearning Bowels in you turn?
In such a case Breasts arm'd with temper'd Steel
And Hearts of Marble, should impression feel.
Then on her bended Knees she fell, and fast,
All drown'd in Tears, his Fetter'd Limbs embrac'd.
And thus she cry'd, here ever will I stay,
Here will I lie, here beg, and weep, and pray,
And strive in Sighs to breath my Life away;
Till Clovis shall our heavy Doom retrieve,
And say he do's at last consent to Live.
Then the sad Mother to her Children said,
Come, Children, help your Father to perswade.
Your Accents full of Grief, and free from Art,
Will penetrate the most obdurate heart.
Your tender Cries will sure his Soul incline,
Your Prayer will more successful prove than mine.
The Children mov'd to see her so distrest,
Burst out in Tears, and the sad Scene increast.
They did about their Father cling, and cry
With mournful Voice, why Father will you dy?
This tender sight did Pious Clovis move;
And in his Breast his mighty Passion strove.
Paternal Pity pain'd his lab'ring Soul,
And made his Bowels in Convulsions roll.
Deep Groans he in his Agony did fetch,
And all his heart-strings felt the utmost stretch.
Striving his Passion to suppress he stood,
At last broke out in Tears and wept aloud.
Now Father's, Mothers, Childrens Cries unite,
And in each others Breasts fresh grief excite.
Confed'rate Sighs and Tears conspire to show
A perfect triumph of Victorious Woe.
Yet constant Clovis still maintain'd the Field,
And tho' o'erwhelm'd with force refus'd to yield.
So when a noble Oak that long has stood
High in the Air, the Beauty of the Wood
Is shock'd by stormy Winds, he either way
Bends to the Earth his Head with mighty Sway.
His lab'ring Roots disturb the neighb'ring Ground,
And makes a heaving Earthquake all around.
Yet fast he stands, and the loud Storm defys,
His Roots still keep the Earth, his head the Skys.
So did great Clovis in the Tempest rock,
And firmly so withstood the Dreadful shock.
But when the Fury and the boyling Tyde
Of his Tumultuous Passion did subside,
Good Heav'ns he cry'd! this is too much to bear,
In such a Storm what Mortal Force can steer?
Nature Extended lys upon the Rack,
And all her shatter'd Frame begins to Crack
Th' impetuous Stress of Passion bears me down,
And the high tyde dos sinking Reason drown.
To bear this mighty weight Heav'n grant support,
All Tortures after this will be but Sport.
The Bitterness and Sting of Death is gone,
When this sad part is past, this Suff'ring done.

   He paus'd, and then to Merula he cry'd,
You now your utmost Strength and Skill have try'd.
You've chang'd indeed th' Attack with Wondrous Art,
Quitting your Reason to engage my Heart.
You Wisely your Artillery apply'd
To the most tender, and defenceless side.
You did discreetly think the task not hard
To gain the illman'd Post, which Passions guard.
You thought to win me by your Artful Prayer,
Because I lov'd you and I thought you Fair.
'Tis true when you your Innocence maintain'd
By no Defection, no Rebellion stain'd,
You shone Illustrious in your Heav'nly Sphear,
And lovely as a Seraph did appear.
But now your Crime your beauteous Eyes disarms
Losing your Piety, you lose your Charms.
O'er your bright Form a Night of Guilt is spread,
And hangs in Stygian Clouds around your head.
Like a fallen Angel Merula has lost
The charming Graces which her Form could boast;
Which now no longer can afford Delight,
But like the Sun Eclips'd dos all affright,
And with a dying Splendor pains our sight.

   Think not that I could Ease and Life refuse,
And Ignominious Death and Torment chuse,
That I of Bosom Friends could farewel take,
And Children dearer then my Life forsake,
Did not th' Almighty this hard task Enjoyn,
And lend the mighty Aid of Grace Divine.
Down to the Yoke I struggling nature bend
Rather than his Supream Command offend.
I am not fond of Shame, nor do I take
Pleasure in Torment, for the Torment's sake.
I do not Court the Cross, nor Wrongs invite
Nor in Distress, and Ruin take delight.
I in Obedience, not in Pain rejoyce
And rather Suff'ring make, than Sin my Choice.
Nor may our transient Sorrow be compar'd
With that bright Crown, that shall our Love Reward,
With Heav'n's transporting, and unmeasur'd Bliss
And Life Eternal in Exchange for this,
'Tis for the Prize we chuse the Painful Race,
And for the Crown that we the Cross embrace.
Here on a dark and dangerous Sea we steer
Tost on th' uncertain Waves of Hope and Fear.
Oft dash'd on Rocks, oft in wild Tempests lost,
Oft chas'd by Corsairs to an unknown Coast.
And shall th' affrighted Voyager recoil
When Heav'n in Pity to his Fears and Toil,
Shall kindly tow him to the happy Strand,
And on the Shores of Light the shatter'd Vessel Land?
Would Trav'llours fry'd with Lybia 's burning Heat
Faint with their Labour, Hunger, Thirst and Sweat,
Complain if one in Pity would Convey
Them to their wish'd for home a shorter Way?
Men who from Heav'n derive their noble Birth
Cast on a Forreign Clime live here on Earth;
Where the wild Natives with loud Clamor chase
To Woods and Caves the mild and God-like Race.
They are insulted, vext, pursu'd and spoil'd,
Both for their own and Master's sake revil'd.
And should not these be willing to retreat
From such a rude, Inhospitable Seat?
Should Strangers us'd so ill, and so Opprest
Be courted to their Home and to their Rest?
Should such as these at their departure grieve,
And drag'd, like lingring Lot, this Sodom leave?
What dismal Seats the dying Saints forsake,
To what a Blissful Place their Flight they take?
There where th' Almighty's Beatific view
Will crown their Wishes and their Hopes out-do.
Where Joys and Pleasures shall their Breasts extend,
Pleasures unmixt, and Joys that never end.

   But now Revolted Merula reflect
On that vast Woe which Rebels must expect.
Who to appease a Man their God Incense
To scape Man's wrath provoke Omnipotence:
Who on Almighty Goodness can't rely,
But from their Saviour's bloody Banner fly,
And to preserve their Lives their Faith deny.
Their timorous flight no Safety can afford,
They fly to meet a more destructive Sword.
What if by Guilt they shun a Mortal Foe,
They run but on his Arms, whose surer blow
Can wound and sink them to the Shades below:
Where they Alternate Death must still repeat
In Piercing Cold, or unextinguish'd Heat;
Where mighty Vengeance they must ever bear
O'erwhelm'd with Wrath, and torn with wild Despair.
Besides when Men from fiery Tryals run,
They meet worse Torments here, than those they shun.
Dos not their Guilt their tremb'ling Souls affright,
And place th' Almighty's Terrors in their Sight?
Outrageous Conscience dos th' Apostate tear
With inward Whips, and Stings him with Despair.
Oh, Merula, say, did you never find
Such Horror, such Remorse within your Mind?
Did ne'er your Fears of Heav'n your Peace molest,
No gripes or inward Pangs torment your Breast.
And was not that a far more painful Rack,
Than those which Tyrants skill'd in Torment, make?
Say, are you not with Consternation struck,
When on your Self deform'd with Guilt you look?
Do's not your secret, self-revenging thought
Afflict your Soul, and lash you for your fault?
An angry Judge your tender Saviour's made,
Of whom you were asham'd, now are you not afraid?
Your thoughts of God must have Amazement bred,
You must his lifted Arm and Vengeance dread.
More had the Hero said, but that he saw
A suddain Storm of Grief in Merula .
Her troubled Looks strange discomposure show'd,
And floods of Tears down her fair Bosom flow'd.
   A while she staid to give her Passion Vent,
And when her Anguish had its fury spent:
She cry'd, my heart do's with this Language melt
'Tis true, those Stings, those Torments I have felt,
Which you describe, too well alas, I know
What Horrors from a Guilty Conscience slow.
I dare no more assert my Innocence,
My Mind inlighten'd owns the black offence.
To Save my Life and Suff'rings to evade,
I have my God deny'd, my Faith betray'd.
'Tis true, when Idols I did first adore,
I ne'er design'd by that compliance more,
Then gaining time till I could my retreat
From Gallia make, to seek some peaceful Seat,
Where I might find you, and your Love enjoy,
And undisturb'd my future hours employ.
But now I see by your assisting Light
I'm both Idolater, and Hypocrite.
How black and dismal do's my Crime appear?
How sharp the Stings of raging Conscience are?
Who can the Pangs and deadly Anguish bear?
O let my head a weeping Fountain grow,
And from my Eyes let mournful Rivers flow.
Let me dissolve to Tears, let every Vein
A stream of Water, not of Blood contain.
Thro' all the winding Channels to my Eyes
Let unexhausted Stores of Moisture rise.
Let no sufficient Treasures be deny'd
To feed the sad, but Everlasting Tide.
Let Love's strong Flame by its Celestial Art
To fill my Eyes, dissolve and melt my Heart;
As Central Fire advances watry Steams
Which from the Mountains spring in Crystal Streams.
Rivers and Seas I want for my Relief,
To Ease, and Vent unutterable Grief.
I, that my Tears may to a Deluge grow,
Will break my Stores up, my Abyss of Woe.
Descend my Tears, in Cataracts flow down,
Me, and my load of Guilt together drown.
Let mighty Torrents from my Eye-balls roll,
Fit to dilute th' Almighty's wrathful Bowl.
Lord, strike this Marble Heart, thy powerful Stroke
Will make a Flood gush from the cleaving Rock.
O draw all Nature's Sluces up, and drain
Her Magazines, which liquid Stores contain.
My Guilt with hideous Crys do's me pursue,
O, let me make the Poets Fable true;
To shun the grisly, formidable Shape,
And from the Monster's Fury to escape,
Melting in Tears let me a River grow,
And in a swift, complaining Water flow.
What method is there, Clovis, to decline
The black, impending Storm of Wrath Divine?
What Balm can my tormenting Pain appease?
What can procure my wounded Spirit ease?
How to my troubled Breast shall I restore
That Heav'nly Peace which I enjoy'd before?
Oh, what can smooth th' Almighty's frowning Brow,
Arrest his lifted Hand, and make him drop the blow?

   She ceas'd. And Clovis paus'd a little space,
While suddain Tears of Joy ran down his Face.
Then spoke the Confessor. Now you appear
Fair as before, and are to me as dear.
Now you regain your Form, and lovely Charms
And as before are welcom to my Arms.
Heav'n will embrace you too, now you return
And your late fall with pure Contrition mourn.
Heav'n's always ready to afford Relief
To pious Sorrow and ingenuous Grief.
When Penitents with self-displeasure burn,
And to themselves, and to their God return.
Th' Almighty mov'd with Pity will not stay,
But will advance to meet them on their way.
Their Errors he forgets, revokes their Doom
And leads his rescu'd Sons in Triumph home.
Your humble Sorrow gives even Angels Joy,
Who to protect you will their Care employ.
The way to make your Peace which you demand
Is plain, you must the fiery Trial stand.
You must your God before the World confess,
And publick Shame, for publick Crimes express.
We must without debate, without delay,
Boldly advance where Conscience leads the way.
Obedience only can our Peace secure:
No Mind is easie long, that is not pure.
You must Obey even at your Blood's expence,
You must to Life prefer your Innocence.
Regard the Joy that is before you set,
View but the Prize, and you will ne'er retreat.
You can't too dear Immortal Glory reap,
What e'er you give, the purchase still is cheap.
In Vertues Cause whate'er your Suff'rings are,
Heav'n is oblig'd your Losses to repair.
If you with publick Fortitude will own
Your Saviour's Cause, you win the promis'd Crown.
This Favourite Intercessor can alone
Fit Merit plead th' Almighty to atone.
Only his Blood can purge your guilty Stain,
Without this Aid, your Tears descend in vain.
Would you succeed in Christian Warfare, joyn
Sincere Obedience to Belief Divine.

   He ceas'd. And thus did Merula reply,
Oh, let not Heav'n its promis'd Aid deny,
And I with Courage will the Cross embrace,
And stare the King of Terrors in the Face.
Both by your words and brave example fir'd,
And with fresh power deriv'd from Heav'n, inspir'd,
Back to the Field from whence I fled I'll come,
And with new Life the Christian War resume.
Faint from the painful Course I once withdrew,
But now return, invited back by you.
I will no more refuse the Christian Yoke,
Nor him forsake, who never his forsook.
From this vile World together we'll retire,
And in Heav'n's Cause together will expire.
With equal swiftness we a breast will fly,
And hand in hand ascend th' Empyreal Sky.

   Here he embrac'd her in his Arms, and said,
Now all my Cares and anxious Thoughts are fled.
Kind Heav'n assist, that we may stedfast prove,
And then Reward the labour of our Love.
Then he with God-like Language did proceed
The sacred flame within her Breast to feed.
How nobly he describ'd the bright Reward,
Th' Eternal Joys for Conquering Saints prepar'd!
What high and great Idea's did he draw
Of future Bliss, then cry'd, oh Merula,
These glorious Triumphs will our Suff'rings Crown,
And these blest Joys will quickly be our own.

   Thus they proceeded in Divine debate,
And Heav'nly Language fitted to their State,
Till Night was worn, and the declining Moon
Had now past over her Nocturnal Noon.
When Uriel brighter than the Morning Star,
And swift as Light'ning glancing thro' the Air,
Did to the Prison, from above, repair.
Beauty Divine, and Grace ineffable,
Did on his Cheeks and God-like Features dwell.
His Eyes, like Diamonds set in polish'd Gold,
Did a bright Heav'n of Light and Joy unfold.
Unfading Youth did pure, Ambrosial Red,
Mild Air, and blooming Honours on him spred.
His Golden Hair did on his Shoulders shine
Like Locks of Sun-beams curl'd with Art Divine.
From his bright Face broke such Illustrious Rays
As all blest Minds imbibe, who stedfast gaze
Upon the dazling Beatific Sight,
Ravish'd with Joy, and overwhelm'd with Light.
Immortal Life his Heav'nly Mould did move,
And thro' his radiant Limbs the Vital Glory strove.
Ent'ring the Room the Seraph Silence broke,
And thus the Pious Confessors bespoke:

   Th' Almighty whose all-penetrating Eye
Do's search the Heart, and all its thoughts descry;
Who views the bent and purpose of your Mind,
Do's your Intention fixt and stedfast find,
To part with Life for your Religion's sake,
And do's the Will for full performance take.
Me therefore in Compassion he has sent
From his high Throne, your Suff'rings to prevent.
I to your Friends will safely you convey,
Then boldly follow where I lead the Way.
   He said, and soon the Constant Clovis found
His Fetters loos'd, and fallen upon the ground.
One Child the Father, one the Mother took,
Who at the wondrous Stranger's Presence shook.
With Fear and Joy possest, without delay
They follow, and their Heav'nly Guide obey.
Th' advancing Seraph touch'd the Prison Door
With the bright Rod which in his hand he bore.
Th' obsequious Gate obey'd, and open flew,
Leaving them free their Safety to pursue.
Whom to the Camp the Angel did convey,
Where strong entrench'd the Valiant Britons lay.
That done, thro' all the spacious Fields of Air,
To his Celestial Seat he did repair.

BOOK IX

   These Things in Gallia past. The King the while
Prepar'd to Sail from Cold Pomona 's Isle.
Lovely Aurora did serenely rise,
And with her Rosy Footsteps markt the Skys.
When with his Men, and Arms, and war-like store
Arthur embark'd to make Neustrasia 's shore.
The howling Sailors all their Anchors weigh'd,
And the tall Ships their Spacious wings display'd.
They spoon'd away before the shoving Wind,
And left retreating Cliffs and Rocks behind.
They cut the Ocean, while Officious Gales
Swell'd the Capacious Bosoms of their Sails.
Thrice interchangably the Night and Day
Had from the Air each other chas'd away,
When now arriving on the Neustrian Strand
The pious Arthur safely came to Land.

   Many glad Troops, soon as the welcome Fame
Of their great Monarch's safe Arrival came,
Sent by the Chiefs, Impatient of delay
Pour'd from his Camp to meet him on his way.
And when they saw the Hero from afar
Advancing like the Poets God of War,
High in the Air they their round Bonnets flung,
And all the Heav'ns with Acclamations rung.
The wild, Transported Youth did run, and shout,
Each other hug'd, and leap'd, and flew about.
His Chariot Wheels on which the Cohorts hung,
Midst loud applauses slowly roll'd along.
With so much Joy King Arthur was receiv'd,
And thus attended at the Camp arriv'd.
Where to his high Pavilion soon they bring,
Rich Wine, and Meats, Refreshments for their King.

   His Supper ended, Arthur did relate
How he in Peace had left Britannia 's State.
And what amazing Dangers him befel,
Caus'd by the Malice of the Prince of Hell,
Both on the Waves and in Pomona 's Isle,
All which he vanquish'd with unwearied toil.
Then did he hear his Chiefs Narration make
How all things past, since he did first forsake
Lutetia 's Fields Brittania to compose,
Leaving the Franks to quell Domestic Foes.
For Solmar 's fall he did his Grief express,
And prais'd the pious Clovis stedfastness.
Then he declar'd to all his fixt intent
That when t'atone th' Almighty they had spent
Th' approaching Day in Fervent Praise, and Prayer,
To the proud Foe he would advance the War.

   The rising Sun the Throne of Night invades,
Fenc'd with thick Darkness, and entrench'd in Shades;
His radiant Troops break thro' th' Horizon's Line,
And on the Heav'nly Plains triumphant shine.
And now appear'd the Sacred resting Day,
When Christians publick Adoration pay
To Heav'n, and fervid with Devotion raise
In rapt'rous Hymns their great Creator's Praise:
And then with awful Reverence and Fear,
From Sacred Priests Divine Instruction hear.
The Captains warm'd with their Religious flame
Soon to their Monarch's high Pavilion came,
T'address with humble Prayer th' Almighty's Throne,
And his unbounded Power, and Rule to own
They did his Justice and his Love assert,
And by Confessions labour'd to avert
His Judgments, and his Anger to Atone,
Caus'd by their Land's Offences, and their own.
They cast upon his Providential Care
The high Concerns of this Important War,
And with an humble Confidence rely'd
For Victory on his Almighty Aid:
Trusting that Heav'n would ever have regard
To the just Man, and would his Deeds reward.
When thus the Britons had their God ador'd,
His Goodness prais'd, and future Aid implor'd,
They sate prepar'd to hear his Heav'nly Word.

   Then Caledon arose with solemn Air,
And to instruct them did himself prepare.
He Albion 's Rights still labour'd to defend,
And pure Religion's Empire to extend.
The finest Clay and pure Etherial Fire
Dispens'd with double Bounty did conspire
To make a Man, that should the World surprise,
A Genius near of Kindred to the Skys.
A Genius so sublime, so rich, and vast,
As all but famous Tylon far surpast.
He did with zeal true piety promote,
For Publick Good he Preach'd, and Pray'd, and Wrote,
All the great Ends for which his Monarch fought.
Prodigious was the Compass of his Mind,
Wide as his Love, which took in Humane Kind.
He Albion 's Good, not Fame or Riches fought,
Generous, and open-hearted to a fault.
An unexhausted Magazin his Brain
Did all the Treasures of the Schools contain.
He shew'd as oft as he Religion taught
Such Fulness, such Fecundity of Thought,
Such Luxury of Sense, such Strength and Art
As soon subdu'd the Hearer's yielding Heart.
How Wise, how Great, how Good must he appear
Who was to Arthur and to Tylon dear?

   The famous Priest th' attentive Audience taught,
And from the Sacred Oracles he brought
What in their minds Conceptions Just and Right
Of the first Glorious Being might excite.
What might Create Dependance on his Power,
And by engaging Heav'n make Conquest sure.
And thus his Wise Instructions did Commence
With Zeal Divine, and rapid Eloquence.
The Pagan World ev'n in its darkest Night,
Receiv'd from glimm'ring Nature so much Light,
That by that Candle of the Lord they found
They were by Duty, and by Int'rest bound,
The World's high Moderator to atone,
And their Dependance on his Care to own.
With solemn Worship they invok'd his Aid
Before their War-like Ensigns they display'd.
To take the Field they from the Altar rose,
And from their Temples march'd to meet their Foes.
To render Heav'n Propitious to their Arms,
Christians are more oblig'd to use the Charms
Of pure Devotion, who more clearly know
What Blessings from Divine Assistance flow.
The Lord of Armys in the Battel stands,
And Vict'ry always watches his Commands.
Without his Favour and propitious Aid,
Armies in vain defend, in vain invade.
The Turns of Empire, and th' Events of War,
Result from his Supream, directing Care.
Those who the Self-existent Cause conceive,
And all his Glorious Attributes believe,
Who own his Greatness, and unbounded Power
To crush his Foes, and Vot'ries to secure;
His Justice, that with Threats the Bad deters,
And great Rewards on Upright Men confers,
His unchang'd Love and Truth that never errs:
His Faithfulness, that ne'er forsakes his own,
But stands as fix'd as his Eternal Throne,
That to his Servants still he Succour brings,
Gather'd beneath his kind protecting Wings.
Those Saints who such a Deity conceive,
With strong Devotion arm'd, will ever strive
With Heav'n, and first begin their Conquests there,
Before on Earth they undertake a War.
Success and Triumph, never to the side
That Heav'n engages on, can be deny'd.

   Who has an Arm like God? who with his Word
And dreadful Voice, can Thunder like the Lord?
He walks array'd with Majesty and Light,
Hid by excess of Glory from our sight.
He casts his Terrors round on every side,
Observes the Great, and Laughs to see their Pride.
He frowns them to the Dust, their Power defeats,
And tramples down th' Ambitious from their Seats.
He gathers up the Ocean in his hand,
And binds the Billows in with Cords of Sand.
He broke th' Abyss up for the watry Stores,
And plac'd before the Waves his Rocky Doors.
He markt out for them their appointed Seat,
And said, Come hitherto, and then retreat.
He in a Ballance weighs the lofty Hills,
And stooping down with Ease takes up the Isles,
Which torn up from their Roots appear so light,
That when he poises them, they lose their weight.
By him the spacious Heav'ns are over-span'd,
And the Sea's lost when held within his hand.
How swift his flaming Darts of Light'ning fly,
Shot from the gaping Engines of the Sky?
His Voice of Thunder do's his Wrath proclaim,
And shakes affrighted Nature's rocking Frame.
Whene'er he bows the Heav'ns, and thence comes down,
He makes the Mountains tremble at his Frown.
The Rocks are rent where e'er his Terrors go,
Hills melted down like Wax before him flow.
He from their Seats with Ease the Mountains spurns,
And in his Wrath aspiring Hills o'erturns.
He makes the Earth warp from its ancient place,
And wrests its trembling Pillars from their Base.
By him rebuk'd, the Sun withdraws his Light,
And Stars lie hid, seal'd up with suddain Night.
He the wide Heav'ns transparent Curtain spreads,
And on the Sea's unstable Billows treads.
He gives Arcturus, and Orion Light,
And bids the Pleiades adorn the Night.
Hell all its dark Dominions to him shows,
Death and Destruction their sad Spoils disclose.
He rais'd the Southern Spheres, and bid them rowl
In unmolested Order round their Pole.
His Word suspends the Earth, and stretches forth
Above the empty Void, the Frozen North.
The Constellations shine at his Command,
He form'd their radiant Orbs, and with his Hand
He weigh'd, and put them off with such a Force
As might preserve an Everlasting Course.
This mighty King, whose Universal Sway
This, and the spacious Worlds above, obey;
Encompass'd with a vast Abyss of Light,
And mounds of Glory of excessive height,
Do's still unseen, and unmolested dwell,
Conceal'd in Splendor Inaccessible.
With perfect Wisdom he all Nature guides,
And Empires to precarious Kings divides.
Who while he pleases wear th' Imperial Crown,
And when he pleases lay their Scepter down.
Princes by Him, and mighty Monarchs Reign,
Justice Decree, and all their Laws ordain.
He first unsheaths the Sword, then bids it go,
And make a sinful Land Heav'n's Vengeance know.
The glitt'ring Spoiler not to be withstood,
Triumphs in Wounds, and Death, and reeks in Blood.
Enthron'd, on slaughter'd Heaps the Tyrant reigns,
And spreads with ghastly Spoils the Crimson Plains.
Where the red Glutton labours to asswage,
With bloody Riot his insatiate Rage.
Thus while the high Divine Commission lasts,
Realms to Destruction doom'd, th' bright Destroyer wasts:
But when th' Almighty bids the Spoiler stand,
He stops his Course, and owns the great Command.
He choaks th' Infernal Throat of Howling War,
And the black Mouths of Horror and Despair.
All Martial Noise, Uproar, and Tumult, cease,
Husht by the soft melodious Voice of Peace.
Long war-like Spears are chang'd for Shepherds Crooks,
And Swords and Shields for Spades' and pruning Hooks.
The Woolly Flocks again adorn the Hills,
And Rural Care the busy Vally fills.
The grisly shapes of Death and Terror gone,
New Life and Joy the smiling Regions crown.
So when a black Tempestuous Night is past
In which loud Winds have lofty Tow'rs defac'd
The Mountains rent, and laid the Forrest wast,
This strife the Morn composes with her Charms,
And all the fighting Elements disarms.
A joyful Peace succeeds this Stormy War,
And calms the troubled Empire of the Air.
The Sun's bright Beams the reeking Meads adorn,
And chearful Lab'rers to their toil return.
He in set bounds do's wild Ambition keep,
And to her say's, as to the raging Deep,
Here stop before the Bars which I have laid.
Here shall thy proud insulting Waves be staid,
They strive in vain these Banks to overflow,
Thus far they shall, but shall no farther go.
The Fate of Empires flow from his Command,
And all the Hearts of Kings are in his hand.
Which by his skill are guided and inclin'd
Ends to promote those Princes ne'er design'd.
Sometimes he raises by a mighty hand
Tyrannic Monsters to Supream Command,
At once to rule, and scourge a Sinful Land.
Who like the Prince of Darkness to asswage
Infernal Malice, and to cloy their Rage
Furys and bloody Ministers employ
Mankind with various Torments to destroy.
These mighty Nimrods eager of their Food
Hunt down Mankind and bath themselves in Blood.
Kingdoms with Desolation they deface
And in their Rage extirpate Adam 's Race.
Then if the Guilty their Defection mourn,
And back to Vertue's Heav'nly Path return,
If humble Prayer and penitential Crys
With sacred Violence invade the Skys,
Which are the only Gyants that assail
The Throne of Heav'n, and in the War prevail,
For Heav'n and Earth together still repent,
This of its Guilt, that of the Punishment;
Th' Almighty's Bowels mov'd within him turn
And in his Breast mild flames of Mercy burn.
His Heart with soft Compassion melted flows
And he Decrees to ease that Nation's Woes.
Then do's he cause some Hero to arise,
Some mighty Leader, Valiant Just and Wise,
Some Moses, Joshua , Jeptha , Constantine ,
Some pious Hercules of Race divine,
Some Arthur, or some Branch of Arthur 's Line.
For this great Race with numerous Heros stor'd,
Always some great Deliverer will afford.
These he enjoyns the Monsters to invade,
And to support them gives his constant aid.
These from the Earth Tyrannic Spoilers chase,
The great Reproach and Plague of Humane Race.
These Ministers of Heav'n midst loud applause
Restore Religion, Right, and antient Laws.
Then fruitful Peace spreads out her brooding Wings,
And her bright train of Blessings Justice brings.
All freed from Violence and War-like noise,
Beneath their Fig-tree and their Vine rejoyce.

   These Hero 's from above derive the Fire
And Force Divine, that dos their Breasts inspire.
The God-like Vigour and th' Immortal Ray
That breaks so brightly thro' their purer Clay
Kind Heav'n bestows; to form a noble Mind
For great Events and mighty Deeds design'd.
And from the glorious Fountain whence it came,
Divine Supplys must feed the Hero 's Flame.
And when their Arms attempt Illustrious Deeds,
Assisted from above their Sword succeeds.
Their Safety springs from Heav'n's peculiar Care,
And from its Aid their Laurels gain'd in War.
The Lord of Hosts dos in the Battel spread
His spacious Shield above his Favorite's Head.
He in the Army's Front dos still appear,
And shakes from far his vast Almighty Spear.
He whets his glitt'ring Sword, prepares his Bow,
And shoots his fatal Shafts amidst the Foe.
What certain Triumph may those Chiefs expect,
Whose Arms Omnipotence dos thus Protect?
The strong the Battel, and the Swift the Race
May often gain, but not of Right, but Grace.
He often his controuling Power to show,
Bestows the Victory on the Weak, and Slow.
He often in the subtile Net ensnares
The crafty Statesman, which himself prepares.
He turns their Counsels into Foolishness,
And makes the Wise their Ignorance Confess,
Some slight, but unexpected Incident
Cast in by him, shall all their Schemes prevent.
Proud Monarchs, who on numerous Troops rely,
And neighb'ring States united force defy,
He's often pleas'd as Captives to bestow
On their much Weaker, tho' successful Foe,
He do's their Pride by their Defeat upbraid,
And shows no Power is great without his Aid.

   The Fall of Kingdoms is by him decreed,
And from his Will Events of War proceed.
He strikes Amazement thro a Camp, and then
Shrubs on the Hills appear like Armed Men.
A Flight of Birds, or else a murm'ring Breeze
Shaking the tops of neighb'ring Mulb'ry Trees,
When Consternation has prepar'd the Ear,
Like mighty Hosts upon their March appear,
Or rapid Torrents which from Mountains gush,
Or raging Armys that to battel rush.
They think the Earth, so fear perswades them, feels
Steeds trampling Hoofs, and brazen Chariot Wheels.
When none pursue th' affrighted Cohorts fly,
Fear finds them Wings, that found the Enemy.
Against themselves he can their Swords employ,
And by their mutual Wounds an Host destroy.
He can their stoutest Chiefs and Legions scare,
With clouds in Warriours shape, and Steeds of Air,
With glaring Meteors, and Fantastic War.
A slight mistake can valiant Troops defeat,
Or groundless Fame oblige them to retreat.
He can his Stars his glitt'ring Host above
Draw out in bright Array, and make them move
In radiant Lines of War to Charge the Foe,
And on them deadly Influence to throw.
All his Arm'd Elements in Battel stand
Eager t'engage, and Fight at his Command.
His Airy Troops, Winds, Rain, and Snow, and Hail,
Heav'ns signal giv'n, the trembling Foe assail.
He by a thousand ways can make appear
How weak Man's Power, how vain his Counsels are.
He can of Insects raise a mighty Host
That shall invade his Foes best guarded Coast.
These wing'd Battalions muster in the Sky,
And rang'd in Battel round his Standard fly.
Raw Vapours he can List, Corruption Arm,
And raise from every Hedge a war-like swarm.
With Worms and Flys he can Commissions trust,
And for new Levys can impress the Dust.
He can of Frogs a croaking Army form,
That shall their Bulwarks Scale, their Castles Storm,
That through their Cedar Palaces shall stalk,
And thro' their Rooms of State in Triumph walk.
All these the Lord of Nature can employ,
And by their force his haughty Foes annoy.
But this he need not do, unless to show
How many ways he can destroy the Foe.
For he th' Angelic Armys can Command
Who to observe his nod, Obsequious stand,
Arm'd with Celestial Swords all bright and keen,
As that which o'er Jerusalem was seen,
When in the Air the fierce Destroyer stood
Reeking in Slaughter, and distain'd with Blood.
These on the Foe, when the high Order's giv'n,
Can draw down all th' Artillery of Heav'n.
They such destructive Weapons can Employ
As in a moment will Great Hosts destroy.
Believe that Heav'n engages on your Side,
Will aid your Arms and humble Gallia 's Pride.
Believe your Swords drawn in the Almighty's Cause,
Will Conquest Win, and meet a loud Applause.

   Great Armacan whose Breast Prophetic Fire
Descending from above did oft inspire,
Whose venerable Words our Isle believ'd,
And as divine Predictions still receiv'd,
A famous Prophecy has left behind
Of Woes against Lutetia 's Sons design'd.
Wherein it clearly do's appear that you
Are rais'd by Heav'n Lutetia to subdue.
Your certain Hopes of Conquest to create
At large the Prophecy I'll now relate.
   Make hast, to all the loftiest Mountains fly,
From whose aspiring Tops amidst the Sky,
You may the Regions all around survey,
Aloft the waving Banner there display.
Aloft th' Almighty's Royal Sandard rear,
Spread out the War-like Ensigns thro' the Air,
And let the bloody Flag denounce the War.
Then call aloud to all the Countrys round,
And fill the wide Horizon with the sound.
Call with a mighty Voice that may alarm
The Realms beneath, and make the Nations Arm.
That all may hasten to the noble toyl,
To easy Conquest, but to Wealthy Spoil.
My sanctify'd, my Chosen Chief, and all
My mighty Warriours, and my Captains call.
Call all my Generals, and my Legions forth,
The Ministers of my avenging Wrath.
A mighty Race, that by their Arms design
Not their own Glory to promote, but mine.

   Hark, what a mighty noise the Mountain fills,
How loud it Ecchoes from Contiguous Hills?
How do's the Clamor and tumultuous Sound
Of marching, Armys from the Sky rebound?
What gath' ring Clouds advance, and bring from far
The heavy Tempest of Impending War?
What confluent Multitudes, what numerous Troops
O'erspread the Hills, and crown the Mountains tops?
How fierce they look? how bright their Arms appear?
How wide a Front of War how deep a Rear?
The God of Armys do's his Power display,
And draws his dreadful Battel in Array.
On high they muster, and with martial Grace
In long Review before their General pass.
Embattled Squadrons swarm upon the Plain,
T'attend th' Almighty in his great Campaign.
The glorious Leader grasps his Sword and Shield,
And with his war-like Myriads takes the Field.

   Ah! Mourn Lutetia, let thy sorrows grow
Boundless and vast, as thy approaching Woe.
Break open all thy secret stores of Grief
Exhaust thy Weeping Springs, hope no Relief,
Torments pursue thee which exceed Belief.
Let Grief and Anguish reign with lawless sway;
For this proud City is thy dismal Day,
This is thy Fatal and Surprizing Hour
When Heav'n will vast destruction on thee pour.
These storms of Vengeance which the Skys o'erspread
Shall be discharg'd on thy aspiring Head.
These mighty Preparations all are made
With dreadful War thy Empire to invade.
Now Sorrows unexpressible are felt,
And in their Breasts the Hearts of Warriours melt.
Ghastly Distraction do's each Soul possess,
And strange Amazement all their looks confess.
Never such wild and hideous shapes of Fear,
Never such finish'd Horror did appear.
The miserable World could never show
So exquisite a Grief and such excess of Woe.
Gigantic Terrors, Anguish and Despair,
And shiv'ring, howling Fears the City scare.
What Agonys of Grief Lutetia shows
Suddain, and strong as Womens Labour-Throws!

   How she bewails her Fate, and well she may,
For now draws nigh th' Almighty's wrathful Day.
How sad a Day? what Storms of Vengeance rise?
What black Destruction gathers in the Skies?
Oh, inauspicious Day! amazing Sight!
Oh, Day more dreadful than the blackest Night!
See, how th' Almighty comes, with how much hast
He marches on to lay Lutetia wast?
Mark, in his Eyes what vengeful Fury glows?
What angry Clouds hang on his frowning brows?
How keen his Sword? how terrible his Shield?
What temper'd Light'nings do's the Conquerour weild?
How vast his Host? how bright their Armor shines?
How long the Order of th' Embattled Lines?
How great this Day is when, with Sword in hand,
Th' Almighty marches to destroy thy Land;
Thy lofty Walls, Lutetia, to surround,
And level thy proud Turrets with the ground?
Th' affrighted Stars retreat into the Sky,
And from Heav'n's brow and outmost Frontier fly,
Unable to preserve their Posts, and view
The bloody Labour ready to ensue.
The Planets starting at the dismal Sight,
Forsake their Orbs, and wander far in Night.
The Sun so long to woful Sights inur'd,
Owns this is worse than e'er he yet endur'd.
For he no sooner from the East displays
O'er all th' Etherial Fields his golden Rays,
But strait he startles, and do's backwards run,
And of its Light defrauds the sick'ning Moon.

   Against th Unjust th' Almighty do's declare,
Against th' wicked he advances War.
He'll from the Earth this impious Race destroy,
And with their Slaughter will his Fury cloy.
He'll give his ravening Sword their Flesh for Food,
And make his thirsty Arrows drunk with Blood.
He from their Thrones will haughty Princes thrust,
And roll their awful Purple in the Dust.
The Proud and Mighty who the Earth Oppress,
His Justice by their Ruin shall Confess.
Such Universal Woe, such Misery,
Such shall th' unheard of Desolation be,
That Men with strict enquiry must be sought,
Grown fearce, as Gems from farthest India brought.
Precious and rare as Ophir 's Golden Oar,
Or purest Pearl from wanton Asia 's Shore.
How hard 'twill be to find a Man's abode,
And when 'tis found he'll be with Wonder show'd,
The strangest Savage that frequents the Wood.
With Nails o'ergrown, wild Looks, and matted Hair,
He'll sculk in Caves, or wander in Despair.
And if by chance a roaming Beast of Prey
Shall meet him in his solitary Way,
He'll wonder at a Monster so unknown,
And yield himself by the Man-Beast out-done.

   When God in Fury wields his deadly Sword,
Nature to see the Terrors of it's Lord,
Amaz'd, and frighted to its Centre, shakes,
Forgets her Duty, and her Course forsakes.
His Wrath o'erturns the Mountains rocking Heaps,
And the scar'd Earth from its strong Basis leaps.
The trembling World's distorted Pillars crack,
And high above prevailing Chaos back,
The Poles stand up to point out Nature's Wreck.
As when a Roe do's on the Hills appear,
Chas'd by the Dogs, and his own swifter fear,
O'er Woods and Lawns he trips, light as the Wind,
And leaves his Foes, tho' not his Fears behind.
So shall thy Sons to Foreign Climates take
Their hasty flight, and thy vext Soil forsake.
In distant Realms they'll thy Destruction mourn,
But ne'er to this accursed Land return.
As scatter'd Sheep without a Shepherd stray,
Expos'd to every Ravening Beast a Prey,
So shall thy Children o'er the Mountains roam
Naked, Distrest, without a Guide or Home.
None to the straggling Fugitives shall show
The least Compassion to asswage their Woe.
A thousand ways they'll from Destruction fly,
And by a thousand various Terrors dy.
Those who remain about her shall afford
A bloody Harvest to the raging Sword.

   All her Adherents in this fatal Hour
Which either lov'd her Gold, or fear'd her Power,
In her Distress Lutetia shall forsake,
Lest of her Cup of Vengeance they partake.
Those who before her Majesty ador'd,
Proclaim'd her Praises, and her Aid implor'd,
Of her Destruction shall Spectators stand,
And point, and say, is this the fruitful Land?
This the great City so ador'd of late?
What an amazing Turn is this of Fate!
Where are her Walls and lofty Pillars? where
Her Towers that shone so glorious in the Air?
Where all her gilded Battlements and Spires
Whose Height and Light outvy'd the Heav'nly Fires?
Where is her Tyrian Pomp, her Robes of state?
Where the high Courts where she in Judgment sate?
Those who enslav'd themselves for Gallic Gold
Betray'd their Trust, and native Country sold,
Who still with zeal her Praises did proclaim,
And with their Guilt advanc'd Lutetia 's Fame,
Shall in Lutetia 's Desolation fall,
While they in vain for her Protection call.
How will the envious Race with Malice burst,
How will th' Anointed of the Lord be curst
By their black mouths, when with his mighty Host
He marches on to proud Lutetia 's Coast?
What anguish will they feel? what shiv'ring Fear
When they the Briton 's mighty Triumphs hear?
When he shall pull their Gallic Idol down,
And spreading Laurels shall his temples Crown.

   The Lord of Hosts shall call his Armys forth,
Enroll his Troops and Muster in the North.
He shall his Warriours from Britannia bring,
Led on to Triumph by their mighty King.
With these the War-like Nations shall combine,
That come from Alba 's Banks, and drink the Rhine.
This valiant Host, th' Almighty will engage
On Gallia 's Soil to execute his Rage.
Vig'rous their Limbs and roughly great their Mind,
Patient of Labour, and for War design'd.
All great in Arms, all men of mighty Name,
Not Wealth and Spoil but Conquest is their Aim.
The nobly slight rich Ophir 's Golden vein,
And look on Silver Heaps with just disdain.
These to Lutetia 's Walls their Arms advance
To humble and correct her Arrogance.

   The tender Offspring of the Womb shall dy,
And dash'd to pieces on the Pavement ly.
Th' Inexorable Sword around shall rage
Without distinction made of Sex or Age.
The fierce Destroyer shall thy Nobles meet,
And lay thy Youth in heaps in every street.
Children shall trembling to their Father fly,
And at his feet shall by the Javelin dy.
Scar'd Infants cling about the Mothers neck,
And on the Invader look with Horror back,
But stab'd within her Arms they fill with blood
The Parent's Bosom whence it lately flow'd.
Affrighted Maids th' insulting Foe to shun
To screaming Mothers for Protection run,
But neither earnest Crys, nor Youthful Charms
Can melt th' Invader, and Arrest his Arms.
The Cruel, Deaf, and Unrelenting Spear
Shall not Compassion's tender Accents hear,
Or mov'd by Mercy, Youth or Beauty spare.
Thou mighty City, Gaul 's Imperial Head
Which hast so Wide thy Fame and Conquests spred,
And in proud Triumph Captive Princes led,
Which as an Empress hast been long renown'd,
Enrich'd with Spoils, which Power and Plenty crown'd,
Thy Day's at hand, thy fatal Hour is come
That brings at last th' Irrevocable Doom.

   The British King his Royal Standard reers,
See where his Host upon the Hills appears.
He shall abase thy Pride, thy slaves release,
Revenge her Wrongs and give Europa Peace.
He shall thy strong and deep Foundations raze,
And on thy Ruins build Immortal Praise.
Thy lofty Towers that with Majestic Pride
In Height and Glory with each other vy'd.
Which their aspiring Heads before did thrust
Amidst the Clouds now hide them in the Dust:
They in their broken Arms each other take,
And ghastly Friendship in Destruction make.
High Roofs of Cedar from Assyria brought,
Rare Statues all by ancient Masters wrought,
Dishes of massy Silver high embost,
And Marble Pillars from Ausonia 's Coast,
Tables inlaid amazing to behold,
Mucovian Furrs, and India 's purest Gold,
Sydonian Luxury, and wealth Immense
Engross'd with wondrous care, and vast expence.
These mingled by Lutetia 's fall shall meet,
And spread with noble Rubbish every Street.
In after times thou'lt be with wonder show'd
Magnificent in heaps, in Ruin proud.
'Twill Learning be thy Monuments to know,
And those thought Wise who thy Remains can show.
Grave Antiquarys shall the Traveller lead
Around the Heaps, and on thy Reliques read.
They'l point, and to th' admiring Stranger cry,
See, yonder where those lofty Ruins ly,
There stood Lutetia 's King's Imperial Seat,
Amazing then, now in Destruction Great.
Delicious Gardens on th' inclining Side
Of that fair Hill display'd their flowry Pride.
What Labyrinths of everlasting Green,
What lovely Walks adorn'd that Heav'nly Scene.
Fountains of wondrous Art did ever flow,
And high into the Air their Waters throw.
Statues that Skill Inimitable show'd
In beauteous order on the Terras stood:
They stood indeed but yet such Life did show,
Spectators wonder'd why they did not go.
How sweet a Shade Confederate Trees did spread,
Raising to Heav'n but one continued Head.
There a Canal, a noble Flood contain'd,
Which from reluctant Nature Art had gain'd,
Where Boats of Pleasure pass'd along the Shores
With Silken Pendants, and with gilded Oars.
Elastic Engines wrought with wondrous Skill
And mighty Cost, rais'd Waters to the Hill
Which first the Fountains fill'd, and then below
Did all collected in the Channel flow.
Now, as you see, the wild neglected Field
Do's only Thorny Shrubs and Thistles yield.
Now view the Reliques of that pompous Arch
Thro' which King Salmo did in Triumph march
Upon the Stones you may with Horror see
Th' Inscriptions, and audacious Blasphemy
With which to flatter his enormous Pride,
Court Sycophants their Monarch Deify'd.
There see the Baths and Aqueducts, and there
See where the Dome its lofty Head did reer.

   This shall, proud City, be thy dismal State,
The next to Sodom 's and Gomorrah 's Fate:
The Shepherd's shall not here their Tents extend,
Nor in their Folds their bleating Flocks defend.
The Savage Kind shall their old Haunts forsake,
And in this wilder Seat their Refuge take.
The Serpents in thy Cedar Rooms shall ly,
And o'er thy Heaps shall hissing Dragons fly.
In thy gilt Rooms shall rest th' ill-boding Owl,
And Wolves within thy Palaces shall howl.
About thy Streets the ravening Bear shall stray,
And in thy Courts her unshap'd Whelps shall lay.
The Lyon shall possess thy Prince's Throne,
The next Apartment shall the Panther own.
The Tyger here his Residence shall make,
And there the Leopard shall his Lodging take.
The Bittern midst thy mossy Heaps shall cry,
Vultures and all the Pyrates of the Sky,
To this amazing Wilderness shall fly.
All Beasts and Birds of Prey shall hither come,
That beat the Air, or thro' the Forest roam:
A dire Convention, yet a milder Race
Than what before possest this Cruel place.

   Now,Valiant Britons , you may clearly see
Your Arms are meant in this great Prophecy.
You are th' Almighty's Chiefs, his Chosen Host
By him drawn out t'invade Lutetia 's Coast.
Success and Triumph to your Arms belong,
Play but the Men, and for your God be strong.
Now let your Valour and resistless Sword,
Shew that you fight the Battel of the Lord.
Who in Compassion to Britannia 's Fate,
The Mighty Arthur rais'd to save her State.
He, by this God-like Moses set you free
From your hard Tasks, and Marks of Slavery.
And by a thousand various Wonders wrought,
The British Youth from heavy Bondage brought.
See where your war-like Joshua ready stands,
To lead your Troops to Vanquish Pagan Lands.
Advance then to Correct the Gallic Pride,
Arthur has God, and Vict'ry on his side.

   He ceas'd. The Captains to their Tents retir'd,
With Caledon 's Seraphic Tongue inspir'd,
A martial Heat did in their Bosoms glow,
And all impatient seem'd t'engage the Foe.

BOOK X

   Soon as the rising Sun's victorious Light
Had Scal'd, and pass'd the gloomy Mounds of Night.
The British Partys who to beat the Road
And gain Intelligence were sent abroad,
Returning to the Camp did Tydings bring,
That as Commanded by the Gallic King
His Cavalry advanc'd at distance lay,
Off from the Foot, and Arbel did obey.
Clotar himself did with the Foot remain,
Which lay encamp'd on rich Lutetia 's Plain.

   Then did King Arthur let his Captains know
That he the Horse would Lead and Charge the Foe,
Commanding that the Foot with utmost speed
Should onward march to share the glorious Deed.
   Great Arthur with Heroic Ardor warm'd
His Weapons took and for the Battel Arm'd.
Round his strong Legs he made his Pieces fast
With Silver Studds, and Golden Buttons grac'd.
Then did he lace his polish'd Helmet on
Which with distinguish'd wondrous brightness shone.
A noble Plume did his high Crest adorn,
Fair as the Morning Star, or as the Morn.
A Purple Scarf, like mild Aurora 's pride,
Enrich'd with Golden Tassels grac'd his Side.
Next, like the Moon at full, his spacious Shield
Blaz'd on his Arm and dazled all the Field.
As Forges full of melted Oar by night
Appear at distance to the Travellers sight,
Where brawny Smith besmear'd with Smoke and Sweat.
For Ships of War unweildy Anchors beat.
So did the Warriour's Burnish'd Buckler glow,
And such fierce Light did from the Metal flow.
His mighty Fauchion which of all the Field,
Two of the strongest Chiefs could scarcely weild,
Whose fatal Edge so many Heros felt,
Hung down suspended in his glorious Belt.
Then his long Spear he took which in his hand
When firmly grip'd shook like an Osier wand.
As when a Cyclops with his pondrous Sledge
On the hard Anvil strikes a flaming Wedge,
When he designs the malleable mass
Shall into some Capacious Caldron pass,
The fiery Dust at every blow that flys
And glaring Light vex the Spectator's Eyes.
The Briton 's Arms shone thus excessive bright,
Darted keen Glances and uneasy Light,
And tho' his Glory pleas'd, it pain'd the Sight.
While thus the Monarch Arm'd, his noble Steed
Sprung from Britannic mixt with Thracian Breed,
Praunc'd in the Negro 's hand, and tost around
His generous Foam that Whiten'd all the ground.
In his hot Mouth he champt the Golden Bit,
And paw'd the Vally with his thund'ring Feet.
The King advanc'd, and in his Martial Heat
Mounting the Steed, and leaping cross the Seat
Such was the clanking of his Arms as made,
By the surprize his starting Friends affraid.
The fiery Beast Impatient of the Rein,
Curveted, Bounc'd, and Bounded o'er the Plain.
The Eagle scarcely flew so swift and strong,
When she to Heav'n, as ancient Poets sung,
From Ætna 's Caves, and Vulcan 's fiery Store
Hot Thunderbolts, and vengeful Light'ning bore.
Thus the swift Courser past, and thro' the Air
Did on his back the glorious Tempest bear.

   Next Osor General of the British Horse
In order follow'd, Arthur 's rapid Course.
Then Noble Clovis warm with martial Heat
Advanc'd his great Atchievements to repeat.
Now all the Squadrons from the Camp were pour'd,
All bold in Arms and to the Field inur'd.

   The Trumpet's cheerful Voice the Region fills,
Redoubled by the Rocks and ecchoing Hills.
The Heav'ns with Arms and war-like noise resound,
And fiery Coursers shake the trembling Ground.
Thick Clouds of Smoke and Foam around e'm fly,
And rising Fogs of Dust obscure the Sky.
Soon Albion 's Monarch with his speedy Course
Came within prospect of King Clotar 's Horse.
The numerous Squadrons rang'd in Battel stood,
And look'd at distance like an Iron Wood.
As when a gathering Tempest do's arise
With sullen Brow, and slowly mounts the Skys,
The Stygian Vapours from their Caves repair
To the black Rendezvous amidst the Air.
Th' embattled Clouds in gloomy Throngs ascend,
And cross the Sky their dreadful Front extend.
So thick the Franks appear'd along the Plain,
Ready th' invading Briton to sustain.
A Grove of Lances o'er the Region spreads,
With Bucklers intermixt and burnish'd Heads.
As when some famous Master Engineer,
Such as great Ricar and Becano are,
A Triumph for some Conqueror do's prepare.
Bright Rockets, Serpents, Stars of Nitre rise,
And mingling Fires Inlighten all the Skys.
Proud Pyramids aloft to Heav'n aspire
Adorn'd with Wreathing Flames, and Laurels all of Fire.
So now the Air shone bright with Helms and Spears,
With Corslets, Shields, and plated Cuirassiers.

    Arbel who ne'er was Conscious yet of fear,
Soon as he saw the British Troops appear.
Pleas'd with th' important Danger of the day
Resolv'd th' advancing Briton 's Course to stay;
And as a prudent Gen'ral did prepare
His numerous Squadrons to receive the War.
He rode thro' all the Regiments and Ranks
To animate and cheer th' Embattled Franks .
Then the great Leader in the Center stood,
And to the Troops around him cry'd aloud,
On you, brave Men, Your Prince has still rely'd,
Sure of your Faith and Courage often try'd.
What mighty Warriours have you overcome?
What Captive Princes brought in Triumph home?
What wonders have your Arms in Battel done,
What wealthy Spoils from vanquish'd Nations won?
You've by the glorious Fields which you have fought,
Not only kept what your great Fathers got,
But have by humbling Neighb'ring Monarchs Pride,
Extended Gallia 's Empire far and wide.
You have the Power of distant Kingdoms broke,
And on their Necks impos'd the Gallic Yoke.
You have your martial fame and terror spred,
And all Europa 's Youth your Ensigns dread.
What Heros ever could your Arms resist?
When have your Squadrons fought, and Conquest mist?
Arthur, 'tis true, did once some Troops defeat,
But must not think his Vict'ry to repeat.
The plying Infantry by giving Way,
The great Disorder caus'd that lost the Day.
You never were engag'd, you ne'er could show
The Fire with which you us'd to Charge the Foe.
Clotar on you his Cavalry relys,
And by your Arms the British Power defys.
'Tis by the Cavalry the Franks have done
Their mighty Deeds, and gain'd their chief Renown.
Your Valour must determine Gallia 's Fate,
You are the Bulwark, that protects her State.
Who can withstand, brave Men, the fatal Sword
Of Vet'ran Troops to Conquest long inur'd?
What Danger is so great, what Task so hard
That can the Triumphs of such Troops retard?

   Scarce had he ended when his Courser's Flanks
The Briton gor'd, and Sprung amidst the Ranks.
His first projected Spear Bermondo slew,
Piercing his Cuirass, Shield, and Body thro':
Drunk with the Wound which inwardly did bleed
The giddy Frank sat tottering on his Steed.
The Courser's Reins fell from his feeble hand,
Then down he headlong fell, and prest the Sand.
Next to the sight strong Osbal did advance,
But in his Breast receiv'd the Briton 's Lance.
As Thunder struck from Heav'n, the mighty Gaul
Fell down, and shook the Vally with his fall.
The Conq'ring Briton o'er his Body rode,
And deep into the Sand his reeking Entrails trod.
Stout Monlac next stood in the Briton 's way,
And proudly hop'd the Victor's Course to stay.
Thro' his right Eye the Monarch's Weapon past,
And pierc'd his Skull which steel in vain encas'd.
He tumbled from his Seat, and on the ground
He felt his Life departing from his Wound.

    Then by Garontes cast a mighty Spear
Cut thro' the downy Bosom of the Air:
Against the Conquering King it took it's Course,
But in his Buckler spent it's dying Force.
Garontes wheeling off had strait retir'd,
But that the King with Indignation fir'd,
Flew to the Charge, and with an oblique stroke
His mighty Fauchion thro' the Helmet broke.
He did his Mouth from Ear to Ear divide,
And from the Wound gush'd out a reeking Tyde.
His sever'd Jaw depending ghastly show'd,
And from his Throat he Cough'd up Teeth and Blood.
He fell, and while he lay in torturing Pain,
Hot Coursers trod to Mire his Head and Brain.
    Onvil advanc'd the Briton to repel,
But on his Crest the mighty Fauchion fell.
The noble stroke did the strong Captain stun,
Who dropt his Sword, and Shield, and in a Swoon,
A while lay sensless on his Courser's Main,
Then fell, and lay stretcht out amidst the Slain.
    Martel, who still the hottest Battel sought,
And from the Combate frequent Laurels brought,
Advanc'd the Monarch's progress to arrest,
And hurl'd his massy Spear against his Breast.
On Arthur 's temper'd Shield the Weapon broke,
In pieces flew, and lost the furious stroke.
The King incens'd, flew on t'ingage the Foe,
And at his Neck discharg'd a mighty Blow.
Off leap'd the Head, and murm'ring flew away,
Then gasping in the Dust, and twinkling lay.
So swiftly did the sev'ring Fauchion go,
So quick, so strong, so suddain was the Blow,
That still the Trunk, tho' of the Head depriv'd,
Preserv'd its Seat, and scarce the loss perceiv'd:
A while a ghastly Prospect there it staid,
And from the Neck the bloody Fountains play'd,
Which high into the Air their Purple Streams convey'd,
Then down it tumbled, and amidst the Dead,
Lay at a distance from the sever'd Head.
Next Oroban who grew in Battel bold,
Because the Augur when consulted told,
That from the War he should Victorious come,
And chase from Gallia 's Coast the Britons home;
Oppos'd the King, but th' unexpected Steel
The wounded Frank did in his Bosom feel.
Approaching Fate he did in vain resist,
Dying he fell, and curst the lying Priest.

   The Monarch then sprang forward to Assail,
Lansac, confiding in his Coat of Mail.
The Fauchion thro' the Coat soon passage found,
His Shoulder cleft, and made a ghastly Wound.
The fainting Gaul fell headlong from his seat
And lay extended at the Courser's feet.
Then thus the Pious King the Frank bespoke,
At last thy Crimes have met th' avenging stroke.
How many Christians has thy Savage hand
Rack'd and destroy'd, pleas'd with thy Lord's Command?
No Torments, no Destruction could asswage
Thy thirst of Blood, and Persecuting Rage.
Think on the Arts thy Malice did invent,
T'afflict the Poor, and vex the Innocent.
Now thou must suffer for th' atrocious Guilt,
For all the Blood thy impious hand has spilt.
Then his bright Spear he thro' his Body thrust,
Spur'd on his Steed, and crush'd him in the Dust.

    Torbet stood next, distinguish'd from the rest
Both by his gaudy Arms, and Priestly Vest.
But when he saw th' advancing Conqueror near,
And ready to discharge his massy Spear,
He from th' Invader turn'd his Courser's head,
And from the dreadful danger would have fled.
But then desparing to escape by Flight,
And yet affraid to undertake the Fight,
Trembling and Pale with fear himself he threw
At Arthur 's Feet, and thus for Life did sue.
Pity, great Prince, as well as Courage show,
And turn from Torbet 's head your fatal Blow.
My Death alass can no Applauses move,
Nor can my worthless Life e'er Dang'rous prove.
A Priest I am, but never did perswade
With Fire and Sword the Christians to invade.
I ne'er did Clotar 's Cruelty Commend,
But thought such Deeds Heav'n's Vengeance would attend.
I still Compassion to the Sufferers shew'd,
And ne'er my hands in Christian blood embru'd.
He said. The King the trembling Coward left
By his own Fears almost of Life bereft.

   Then Bramar trusting to his mighty Force
Came boldly on t'oppose the Monarch's Course.
Proudly he rein'd his generous, milk-white Steed
As Thracian bold, swift as Iberian Breed.
The Briton 's Spear aim'd at his shining Crest,
Missing the Rider struck the prauncing Beast,
And entring deep lay buried in his Chest.
He on his hinder Feet himself did rear,
And with the foremost paw'd, and beat the Air;
Then on the ground he fell, and with his fall
The groaning Courser crush'd the war-like Gaul .
Arthur advanc'd, and gave the fatal Wound;
The Weapon fixt the Body to the ground.
At Dagbert next, and Marodel he flew,
The first his Spear, the last his Fauchion slew:
This split the Brain, that with a furious stroke
The Warriour's Ankle-bone to Splinters broke.
Then Cossan, Aldar , Molan , Sarabel ,
Aranda, Clobar, and Elviran fell.
As when loud Boreas blows his stiffest Gales,
To swell some War-like Ship's expanded Sails,
Driv'n with the furious Wind the Vessel braves
The foaming Troops, and thick embattled Waves.
O'er Billows thronging Heads the Victor rides,
Cuts thro', and all the watry Host divides.
With equal Force the Valiant Briton flew
Amidst the Ranks, and charg'd as swiftly thro'.

    Osor mean time broke thro' th' opposing Franks,
And bravely plung'd amidst the thickest Ranks.
Great Shabron 's Head his fatal Fauchion cleft,
And on the ground th' expiring Pagan left.
T'engage the Briton Rimon did advance;
But in his Buckler broke th' unprosperous Lance.
Osor incens'd advanc'd to Charge the Foe,
Pois'd his long Spear and pierc'd his Body thro'.
The Pagan sinking backward lost the Rein,
The affrighted steed ran wild across the Plain
And dropt the dying Frank amidst the Slain.
Next the brave Warriour did his Javelin throw
At Ulna 's Breast, which tho' it mist the Foe,
The glittering point his Steed's right Eye-ball past,
And stuck within the bloody Orbit fast.
High in the Air he rose, then to the ground
He backward fell, expiring with the wound.
Struck Breathless with the Fall, the noble Frank
Lay with his Shoulders on the Courser's Flank.
Quick to the ground the Briton from his Seat
With ardor leap'd, his Conquest to compleat.
He laid his left Hand on the Warriour's Crest,
And with his right Hand stab'd him in the Breast.

   Then Andolan of Ammon 's noble Line
Born on the flowry Banks of Silver Sein,
Spur'd his hot Steed, and griping fast his Spear,
Ran at the Briton with a full Career.
Illustrious Osor ne'er to fear inur'd,
T'engage the Frank his Courser onward spur'd.
Then with a mighty shock the Coursers met
Dismounting both the Riders from their Seat.
So when two Ships their Contest to decide
In rude Rencounters meet upon the Tide,
No more the Sailors can their Decks maintain,
But with the Shock are forc'd into the Main.
Their feet recover'd, soon the Champions drew
Their flashing Blades, and to the Combate flew.
Forwards stretcht out they did their Bodys bend,
And with uplifted Shields their Heads defend.
Vast strokes were now discharg'd on either side,
Strokes that with ease would unarm'd Limbs divide.
Their Armour was deform'd with numerous dints,
And their bruis'd Bucklers shew'd the Fauchions prints.
For Conquest long the Captains did contend,
And in vast strokes their Martial Vigour spend.
Still both the Combatants maintain'd their ground,
Neither had given, nor yet receiv'd a Wound.
At last their Strength with equal honour spent,
To end the noble Combate both consent.
The valiant Chiefs in friendly manner part,
Praising each other's Strength, each other's Art.
The generous Briton to the Gallic Lord
Did for a present give a famous Sword.
The Haft an Agate was from India brought,
Where inlaid Trees, and Birds by Nature wrought
Appear'd distinct and fair, as Ants and Bees
Kill'd and Entomb'd in drops from Amber Trees.
With their best Skill Iberian Masters made
Of purest temper'd Steel the faithful Blade.
The ample Scabbard which the Sword did hold,
Shone bright with glitt'ring Gems and Studs of Gold.
This Sword Nazaleod from rich Colmar won,
When he the Saxon slew with great renown,
And his rich Spoils midst loud Applauses brought
From the fam'd Battel at Gallena fought:
The Sword Nazaleod to great Osor gave
Whose Arms did once his Life in Battel save.

   The noble Frank a Saddle did present
Glorious with Gems, with Work magnificent.
The Pummel was an Ivory Lyon's Head
That fiercly grin'd, as those in Lybia bred.
The Seat rich Crimson Velvet cover'd o'er,
Like that exported from Liguria 's Shore.
Th' embroader'd Skirts were all with Gold besmear'd,
Where Figures wrought with curious Art appear'd.
A Leopard's Skin th' appending Housing was
From Afric brought, and grac'd with Silver Paws.

   Elsewhere brave Clovis did the Foe pursue,
And first his massy Spear at Ortan threw.
The temper'd Shield could not it's Force Arrest,
It pass'd the Plys and pierc'd the Warriour's Breast.
The secret Springs of Life the Weapon found,
And broke them open with a fatal Wound.
The Spear fixt in his Breast, some time he hung,
And with his left hand to the Saddle clung,
But with his Right held fast the Courser's Main
And thus a while his Body did sustain.
But Death unstrung his Nerves, and loos'd his hold,
Then in the Sand th' expiring Captain roll'd.
Then with his Battel Ax great Clovis flew
At Maronac, and cleft his Shoulder thro'.
Down on the Ground the Arm dis-joynted dropt,
As a great Limb falls from a Poplar lopt.
Strait the dismember'd Frank, a fearful Sight,
Wheel'd off in vain to save his Life by Flight.
Warm streams flew out from every sever'd vein
And markt with tracks of Blood the Dusty Plain.
Defrauded of his Strength the feeble Gaul
At last did headlong from his Courser fall.
Cold Death forbad his lab'ring Heart to beat,
And in his blood supprest the vital Heat.
Then Carobel who had advanc'd his name
By learned Arts, and Skill in Nature's Fame,
Bold too in Arms, and to the Camp inur'd,
Fell in Lutetia 's fields by Clovis Sword:
Thro' Helm and Skull the Fauchion passage found,
Cleft thro' the Brain, and ruin'd with the Wound
The curious Imag'ry by Fancy wrought,
All Mem'ry's Cells, and all the Moulds of Thought.
Next Alloman lay dead, Lugdunum 's Pride,
And beauteous Ormal stretcht out by his Side.

    Capellan also signaliz'd his Arms,
And boldly prest amidst the Gallic Swarms.
He slew at Lucan with a full Career,
And thro' his Bosom past his fatal Spear.
His second Fromel kill'd, the next he threw
Young Lamar pierc'd, the next Obella slew.
Then his Projected Dart transfixt the Head
Of Grutar 's Steed, which on the field lay dead.
Across the Beast on which before he rode
Ghastly with Gore and Dust the Warriour strode
With his strong Arm he did his Spear protend,
And with his burnish'd Shield his Head defend.
A while he strove, and bravely kept his ground,
Till the fierce Briton 's Spear it's passage found
Thro' Helm and Head, and then with Death opprest
He fell, and lay across th' extended Beast.

   While Valiant Clovis so much Honour won,
Elsewhere like Wonders were by Lucius done.
First in his way by luckless Fortune stood,
Young Medolan of Trabor 's noble Blood.
The Javelin thro' his Belly made it's way,
And in his wounded Entrails buried lay.
The Youth, so much he was to Arms inclin'd,
Left unenjoy'd his beauteous Bride behind;
He's now embrac'd by Death' s unwelcom Arms,
And to another quits her Maiden Charms.
Brave Arcan burning with a Martial Flame,
To aid his wounded Brother swiftly came;
But felt the Briton 's Steel within his Veins,
Which thro' his Armour pierc'd the Warriour's Reins.
Upon his Seat he could no longer stay
But fell, and cross his dying Brother lay.
Their mournful Friends look'd on, but were afraid,
So great the Peril was, to give them Aid.
So when a Lyon roaming o'er the Lawns,
Descrys the Thicket where her tender Fawns
The Doe as she believ'd did safely lay,
In do's he leap, and tear the panting Prey
The Doe at distance do's their Fate bewail,
But dares not come the Murd'rer to Assail.
While Valiant Lucius such destruction made,
Against the Chief advanc'd a strong Brigade;
And opening to the Right and Left, the Foes
On every side the Leader did enclose.
The noble Briton did himself defend,
While Clouds of Spears from every part they send.
The missive War upon his Buckler rung,
And showers of fruitless Deaths around him sung.
So when fierce Dogs and clam'rous Swains surround
A mighty Boar in neighb'ring Mountains found;
His Bristles high erected on his Back,
The raging Beast withstands the Foes attack:
He whets his dreadful Tusks, and from afar
He foams, and flourishes the Ivory War.
The cautious Huntsmen at a distance rage,
Cast all their Darts, but dare not close engage.
At last the Briton from an unknown Spear,
Receiv'd a painful Wound beneath the Ear.
The striving Blood did thro' his Armour spout
The Franks observing gave a mighty shout.
Thus wounded and opprest, the British Chief
Call'd to his Friends aloud to bring Relief.
It chanc'd that mighty Trelon then was near,
Who to his Squadron cry'd, the Voice I hear
Is Lucius, who encircled with the Foe,
Contends in vain to cut his passage thro'.
To bring him off we'll force the Gallic Ranks.
He said, and strait he spur'd his Courser's Flanks,
And shaking in his hand his glitt'ring Lance,
To Charge the Franks with Fury did advance.
The Franks disperst when Trelon first appear'd,
So much they all his famous Courage fear'd.
So when fierce Wolves have seiz'd a fainting Deer,
But newly wounded by the Huntsman's Spear.
With reeking Blood they feast their hungry Jaws,
And the warm Entrails pant beneath their Paws.
But if a Lyon comes, the awful Sight
Do's from their Prey the prowling Race affright.
Then his bright Spear with Fury cast betwixt
The Flank and Chest, great Tolna 's Steed transfixt.
The generous Beast beneath the Rider fell:
Tolna th' invading Tempest to repel,
Springing with Vigour from the Courser's back,
Advanc'd on foot great Trelon to attack.
And that the Briton 's Fury might be stay'd,
His Left Hand on the Courser's Reins he laid,
And held his flaming Fauchion in the Right,
Resolving thus he would maintain the Fight.
The Britons Steed that Swords and Spears disdain'd,
With Indignation foam'd to be restrain'd:
Trelon enrag'd, divided at a blow
His Arm, which dropt and let the Courser go.
The generous Steed finding the Rein releast,
Sprang forth, and struck stout Tolna in the Breast,
Who breathless fell, with endless Night opprest.

   Mean time, at distance Arbel bravely fought,
And wondrous Fame by great Atchievements sought.
His Courage, Strength, and Conduct often try'd
Made all the Gallic Youth in him confide
As their Chief Champion, and their surest guide.
He spur'd his fiery Steed, and forwards sprung
Amidst the Troops, and broke th' opposing Throng.
Brave Gomar first his fury did withstand,
But while to cast his Spear he rais'd his hand,
The Frank 's bright Lance between his Armour's joynt
Beneath his Arm-pit past its glitt'ring point.
Deep in his breathing Lungs the Weapon lay
The Neustrian 's fell, and saw no more the Day.
Coril advanc'd to undertake the Fight,
And threw his Weapon with prodigious might.
The Frank inclin'd his head, and heard the Spear
Aim'd at his Crest pass singing by his Ear.
Then did his Dart against the Briton fly,
And wounded thro' the Plate his brawny Thigh.
A bloody Stream gush'd from the painful wound,
And flowing down his Armour stain'd the ground.
On did th' insulting Frank with fury fly,
And eager to compleat the Victory.
On high his dreadful Battel-Axe did heave,
Hoping in two the Briton 's head to cleave.
But as it fell, the Courser rose, and took
Between his Ears the Champions furious stroke.
The Steel sunk thro' his Brain the staggering Beast
Fell, and his weight the wounded Rider prest.
Bold Malgo brought his Squadron up, and freed
The groaning Briton from the unweildy steed.
They drew by force the Hero from the Field,
Then bore him off laid on a spacious Shield.
So when a Flag Ship is by Foes o'erborn,
Unmasted, and with Cannon's Thunder torn,
From the hot Fight attending Frigates pull
And Tow along the maim'd, disabled Hull.

   Mean time the Briton with his reeking Blade
Had his swift passage to the Quarter made,
Where Arbel 's Sword destroy'd, and strew'd around
With Riders and their Steeds th' encumber'd ground
As when a Lyon from a Mountain's side
Has in the Vale a lowing Herd descry'd,
He stands, and turns his furious Eyes about,
The strongest, sowrest Bull to single out,
One worthy of his Rage, by all the Herd
Obey'd as Lord, and by each Rival fear'd:
Then having fixt his choice aloud he roars,
Proclaims the War, and to the Combate scowrs.
So Arthur keeping Arbel in his Eye,
Did to the sight with dreadful fury fly.
The Gaul observ'd the Monarch from afar,
And for the Combate did himself prepare.
High on his Steed the might Warriour sate,
Proud of his Strength, and fearless of his Fate.
Like a great Pine o'ershadowing all the Wood,
Or ancient Poplar reering by the Flood
His lofty head, the towring Pagan stood.
Well-pleas'd to undertake the noble Fight
He did aloud to Arms the King invite.
Who on his fiery Steed advancing near,
Projected thro' the Air his pondrous Spear.
The Frank to make his weapon's message vain
Stoop'd down, and lay upon his Courser's Main.
Th' eluded Weapon o'er his Shoulder flew,
And at great distance Caumont 's Courser slew.
Then did the Frank employing all his Strength
Discharge his Spear of formidable Length,
Hissing along the Air, the Weapon went,
But in the Hero's Shield its fury spent.
His second Spear the Pious Briton threw
Which like a flash of Lightning swiftly flew.
The wheeling Frank could not the Steel evade
Which thro' his Shield and Thigh its passage made;
Whence deep it sunk within the Courser's Chest,
And fixt the Rider to the wounded Beast.
From both their sever'd veins the reeking Blood
Gush'd out, and mingled in one Common Flood.
Then down they fell and prest the slipp'ry plain,
The Rider wounded, and the Courser slain.
The King with martial Ardor to the ground
Leap'd from his Steed to give the fatal wound.
His dreadful Fauchion glittering in his hand
He o'er the vanquish'd Frank did threatning stand.
The Frank in Anguish, Horrour, and Despair,
Did on the high rais'd Weapon wildly stare.
Then thus the Pious Prince bespoke the Gaul,
Think on thy Barb'rous Deeds, remember all
The Fatherless and Widdows thou hast made,
And Christian Martyrs to the Flames convey'd.
What numbers has thy single hand destroy'd?
What numbers more the Troops by thee Employ'd?
These Impious Deeds thou bloody Instrument
Of Clotar 's Cruelty at last Repent.

   The Frank reply'd. No Sorrow can I own
For my just anger to the Christians shown.
Can he impiety to me object,
Who do's the Worship of the Gods neglect?
Whose sacrilegious hands their Temples raze
Destroy their Altars, and their Shrines deface?
Who do's the Gods, and Goddesses dethrone,
Denying all th' Immortal Powers, but one.
I grant I still pursu'd the Christian Sect,
And from just Heav'n I my Reward expect,
For sure th' Impartial Gods will ne'er condemn
A Zeal that springs from Reverence to them.

   He said. The King reply'd, Remorseless Wretch,
Canst thou in Death such Consolation fetch,
From thy black Guilt, which should thy Conscience Scare,
And fill thy Breast with Terror and Despair?
Tho' thou with Guilt and Prejudice are blind
Thou in thy Torments wilt thy Error find.
This Hand shall send thee to the sad Reward
By Righteous Heav'n for Men of Blood prepar'd.
Then thro' the Frank, extended on the Dust,
His Spear, the King with Indignation thrust.
Thro' his Left Pap it did its passage make,
Transfixt his Breast and stuck within his Back.
He fetcht thick dying throbs, and double Sighs,
While endless Night seal'd up his swimming Eyes.

   Soon as the Pagans saw their Champion dead,
From Arthur 's Arms the trembling Squadrons fled.
The Conquering King did eagerly pursue,
And in the Chace prodigious Numbers slew.
So when tempestuous Boreas stretches forth
His furious Wings, and leaves the frozen North;
Th' insulted Clouds dispers'd, and routed fly,
O'er all the liquid Desarts of the Sky.
The swift Pursuer hangs upon the Rear,
And drives the black Battalions thro' the Air.

   While beauteous Celon with a loosen'd Rein,
Flew from the Conquering King across the Plain;
His Courser slipt, and fell by luckless Chance,
To take his Life the Monarch did advance.
When old Velino who together fled,
The Danger saw, he turn'd his Courser's Head;
Beneath the Victor's Feet himself he threw,
And for his Son Young Celon thus did sue.
O spare the Youth, and let, Victorious Prince,
Compassion joyn'd with Power, the World convince,
That by Heroic Enterprises you,
Laurels, but not with Cruelty, pursue.
The Gallic Forces to your Valour yield,
And with inglorious Rout o'erspread the Field.
If you in Pity give, as I entreat,
The Youth his Life, your Vict'ry's still compleat.
He's not a Frank sprung from Germanic Race,
But from the Gauls who first possest this place.
His Mother was to Christian Faith inclin'd,
And he was ever to the Christians Kind.
Three of his Brothers on the Field lie slain,
This Son of Nine do's now alone remain;
My only Comfort, and my only Hope,
Of my declining Age the single Prop.
Pity my hoary Head, his blooming years,
The Son's true Virtue, and the Father's Tears.
Pity, if you a Father are, express
To a sad Father in such vast distress:
At least the tender Passion you may know,
Thinking on that your Father show'd to you.
Avert, great Prince, from Celon 's Breast your Dart,
Strike rather than the Son's, the Father's Heart.

    Velino ceas'd. And from his Eyes apace
The gushing Tears flow'd down his mournful Face.
The Pious King toucht with the moving Prayer,
Forbore the stroke, and did young Celon spare.
Old Man, he cry'd, your Tears your Son reprieve,
Thus twice a Father to him Life you give.

    Orban a noble Velocassian Youth,
Who once profess'd the Heav'nly Christian Truth,
But that his Wealth and Life might be secur'd,
Renounc'd Religion, and his God abjur'd.
Now felt King Arthur 's Spear within his Reins,
And finding Death creep Cold along his Veins:
Mad with Despair aloud th' Apostate cry'd,
Curst be the hour when I my God deny'd.
The Ease, and Life, and Wealth I valu'd most,
Are by the ways I strove to save them lost.
Now must I Torments, Agonys, Despair,
And everlasting Throws of Conscience bear.
More had he said, but interposing Death
To form his Words deny'd Supplys of Breath.

   The King continu'd his pursuit, and made
A dreadful Slaughter till the Evening Shade,
To stop the Victor's Course, did interpose
Between the Britons and their flying Foes.
Arthur return'd in Triumph to his Tent,
Where he to Heav'n, in solemn manner sent
Religious Praises, and his God ador'd,
Who once more, had with Conquest crown'd his Sword.

BOOK XI

    When Lucifer observ'd the Pagans flee,
And the great Briton crown'd with Victory,
O'er-boiling Rage his lab'ring Mind possest,
And thoughts of deep Revenge o'erwhelm'd his Breast.

   Then thus he to himself:
Must Europe still with Acclamations ring,
And loud Applauses of the British King?
Must he his glorious Triumphs still repeat,
All my Allies, and faithful Friends defeat?
Can no obstructions stay his rapid Course?
No Task unequal for the Briton 's Force?
Can I no Dangers, no fresh Plagues Invent?
Is Lucifer grown dull and impotent,
My Arts exhausted, and my Vigour spent?
Are all my Torments, all my Vengeance gone?
Must I the Briton 's Strength Superiour own?
Shall Hell's great Prince, and Monarch of the Air,
Sit tamely down, and languish in Despair,
Unable longer to support the War?
Would such a Deed become my high Degree,
My Station in th' Infernal Hierarchy?
I shall dishonour by th' inglorious Course,
Immortal Malice, and Immortal Force.
I shall debase our great and God-like Race,
And draw on Hell Indelible Disgrace.
Thus shall I shun insulting Michael 's scorn?
Thus the Seraphic Character adorn?
Hell's Sanhedrim my Weakness will proclaim,
And vulgar Demons will Affront my Name.
Can I endure to hear my Subjects say,
I did my Empire, and their Cause betray?
No Fellow Deitys you ne'er shall find,
Or Pains or Danger once by me declin'd
To serve the Int'rests of th' Infernal State;
No Disappointments shall my Zeal abate.
I'll still the Briton and his Friends pursue,
Shew him fresh Dangers, and the War renew.

   He said. And strait his spacious Wings display'd
Which hid the Moon, and cast prodigious Shade;
Soaring he cut the liquid Region thro',
And to the Palace of King Clotar flew.
Arriving there th' Apostate took his way
To find th' Apartment where Palmida lay.
Palmida was a Priest, whose Hellish Rage,
And thirst of Blood, no Victims could asswage.
He o'er Lutetia 's Altars did preside,
Did Clotar 's Councils, and his Conscience guide.
By him inspir'd, he laid his Kingdom wast,
And from the Realm the peaceful Christian chas'd.
Then that th' Apostate Seraph might appear,
Ambitious Orgal to Palmida dear.
The late High Priest who did Lutetia guide
With equal Cruelty, and equal Pride.
He with Angelick skill did soon prepare
A priestly Shape, and Reverend Robes of Air.
He Orgal 's Looks and Presence did assume
Ent'ring with Pontificial Port the Room.

   Then thus the Prince of Hell the Priest addrest.
Palmida from the Regions of the Blest,
From Gods, and God-like Heros I descend
To show the way Lutetia to defend.
With generous, open Arms you Hope in vain
King Arthur 's Strength, and Courage to sustain.
No Gallic Chiefs such mighty Arms can weild,
None such a Sword, or such a spacious Shield.
This day his Arms with Spoils and Heaps of Dead
Have all thy bloody Fields, Lutetia , spread.
Arbel in whom you chiefly did confide,
By Arthur 's Weapon much lamented dy'd.
The Gallic Troops to Conquest long inur'd
Are now dismaid, and dread the Briton 's Sword.
He will advance Lutetia to assail,
Will her strong Towers, and lofty Bulwarks scale.
And shall, Lutetia, be the Conqueror's Prey?
Shall Gallia 's Princes British Lords obey?
Shall all our Sacred Priests, and all our Gods
Chas'd from their Temples leave their rich abodes?
Shall their high Groves by Christians be prophan'd,
Their Shrines defil'd by an unhallow'd hand?
Shall our high Domes with wealthy Gifts adorn'd
Be all to Heaps of mingl'd Ruins turn'd?
Shall scoffing Christians spurn with impious Feet
Our scatter'd Images thro' every Street?
Shall Holy Fragments, Limbs, defac'd Remains,
And Trunks of Gods dismember'd spred the Plains?
Her Yoke on Gallia 's Neck shall Albion lay,
And make the Mistress of the World obey?
Must Gallia 's Youth of Empire long possest
Be led in Triumph, be with Chains opprest?
Must her great Chiefs and Princes be destroy'd,
Or in base tasks, as Captives, be employ'd?
With Ignominious Labour forc'd to groan
While drawing Water, Hewing Wood and Stone?
Shall these sweet Rivers, this delicious Soil
Enrich the pamper'd Briton with their Spoil?
Must Gallia 's Sons their Fields and Vineyards dress,
And their rich Wine for a proud Stranger press?
Yet this must be, this is the dismal Fate
Which now impends o'er high Lutetia 's State,
If from amidst her Sons she can't select
Some, who her Power and Greatness to protect,
Dare strike one noble Stroke, one Effort make
With secret Arms King Arthur to Attack.
Remove the British King at any rate,
One single Blow secures the Gallic state.
Such Deeds our Order always did commend,
This Maxim we as Sacred still defend,
That Means are hallow'd by their Pious End.
This only Means within your Power remains
To save Lutetia from Inglorious Chains.
Go then, Palmida, and the King prepare
To make on Arthur 's Person Secret War.
But time to gain, and Arthur to amuse,
First by an Ambassy demand a Truce:
If he agrees that Arms a while shall cease,
Commence a Treaty to concert a Peace.
Do you, with what the Briton offers, close,
Nor any Terms, tho' most unjust, oppose.
If this be manag'd right, and by Degrees
You all things yield that will the Briton please;
You will have time to form the great Design
And dress the Snare, which Arthur can't decline.
Then may the Ponyard in a valiant hand
From hostile Arms set free the Gallic Land.
No other Means you can securely trust,
What's Necessary is with Statesmen just.
Some may perhaps against the Deed declaim,
But all to save a State would do the same.

   This said, the Prince of Hell without delay
Dissolv'd his Airy Form and flew away.
Palmida hence reviving Hopes conceiv'd,
And by the Counsel Orgal gave, believ'd
There ill affairs might be at last retriev'd.
The Barbarous Priest on his dire purpose bent
To find King Clotar, to his Palace went,
To whom the Priest the Project did impart
At which a Generous, Noble Mind would start.
Would be with Horror, and Amazement seiz'd,
And show how much the black Design displeas'd.
And yet without Reluctance he agreed
Without delay t' effect th' Atrocious Deed.
Palmida from the Gallic King withdrew,
The Bloody Undertaking to pursue.

   Soon as Aurora with her dawning Ray
Began to smile, and propagate the Day.
Clotar five Lords to Albion 's Monarch sent,
Who to obey their King's Instructions went.
They with attending Heralds took their way
To the high Camp where Arthur 's Forces lay;
There they arriv'd, while he in Songs of Praise
And fervent Prayer did with his Captains raise
Th' Almighty's Power, and Providential Care
To which he ow'd his Laurels won in War.
The Solemn Worship ended, Arthur Sate
Within his Tent in his rich Chair of State;
The Franks advanc'd their Message to relate.

    Then Orobac their Chief first silence broke,
And bowing low, the Monarch thus bespoke.
Clotar, great Prince, to put a happy end
To this destructive War do's condescend
To ask a Treaty may Commence for Peace,
Mean time that Arms on either Side may cease.
Blood to prevent our Monarch will withstand
No Terms which Arthur justly can demand.
You oft declare, that 'tis not War and Blood
Which you pursue, but Peace and Publick Good.
You would poor Captives from their Chains release,
And give afflicted Kingdoms Rest, and Ease.
You publish, that your Arms you hither brought,
These glorious Ends in Gallia to promote.
These Ends King Arthur quickly may enjoy,
And need no longer Force and Arms employ.
All publick Grievances shall be redrest,
Nor shall the Christians longer be Opprest.
   He said. The British Monarch thus reply'd;
I yield that Arms shall cease on either side:
And to the Treaty which you ask, consent,
Th' Effects of hostile Fury to prevent.
I would to all in Suff'rings, Pity show,
I would remove, but not encrease their Woe.
My thoughts to Clotar 's Throne did ne'er aspire,
His injur'd Subjects Freedom I desire.
Let him his Empire undisturb'd enjoy,
But let him not his Arms, and Snares employ,
His Subjects, and his Neighbours to destroy.
Let all the Towns and Castles be restor'd,
Which he has forc'd unjustly by the Sword
From weaker Neighbours, to their Rightful Lord.
Let him his Christian Fugitives recall,
To all the Rights they once possest in Gaul .
And let him place for Caution in their hand,
The Towns and Forts they did before Command.
Let him the Gallic Liberty restore,
And vest the Senate in its ancient Power.
This done, the Britons shall repass the Seas,
And give this Kingdom Liberty and Peace.
For six days space I will my Arms suspend,
Your Prince's final Answer to attend.
He said; And rose from his high Chair of State:
The Franks return'd his Answer to relate.

   Mean time Palmida labour'd to engage
Fit Instruments to execute his Rage.
Nor was it long before the Men were found,
For Clotar 's Guards with Murd'rers did abound.
Men who his Barb'rous Orders understood,
Stedfast in Guilt, and long inur'd to Blood:
Men who distinguish'd Cruelty had shown,
Men with Inhumane Tasks Familiar grown;
Ready to act the most Unnatural Deed,
From all Remorse, and all Reluctance freed.
Yet these th' Infernal Enterprise declin'd,
Until their Order was by Clotar sign'd.
Palmida left the Ruffians to project,
And fix the Means, their Purpose to effect.
These various Ways and Methods did debate,
How Arthur to Assault to Save their State.
Some Poison, some the Ponyard did suggest,
As what would gain their Bloody Purpose best.
Some warmly pleaded for an Ambuscade,
Whence issuing out they might the King invade.
Some gave Advice, that with a vast Reward,
They should attempt to gain King Arthur 's Guard.
Others of different Judgments did contend
That all, themselves Deserters should pretend,
That in the Camp they might a Season watch
In which the bloody Task they might dispatch.
These Ways rejected, 'twas at last agreed,
They would accomplish their Atrocious Deed,
When both the Monarchs from their Camps should go
To Ratify the Peace with Solemn Vow.
Then some as Heralds drest, and some as Priests,
Should wait on Clotar to the Publick Lists;
And all short Swords and Ponyards should prepare,
And hide beneath their Robes the Barb'rous War.
And while King Arthur did his God invoke
To bind the Treaty, they should strike the Stroke.

   The Franks mean time who did the Peace promote,
Had their Transaction to an Issue brought.
All things the Briton ask'd the Franks agreed
That from his Arms Lutetia might be freed.
The Term which Clotar 's Orators desir'd
For Arms to be suspended was expir'd,
When a fixt Day the Monarchs did propose,
Wherein with sacred Rites, and Solemn Vows
They would themselves to strict observance bind
Of all things promis'd in the Treaty sign'd.

   And now the Night approach'd which did precede
The Day appointed for the bloody Deed.
When Derodan who by his King's Command,
Before the Battel with a chosen Band
T' attack a British Convoy was detach'd,
His Expedition with Success dispatch'd;
Return'd, and with his Men rejoyn'd the Host,
Griev'd, and enrag'd to find the Battel lost.
He for his Stature, and his Strength was known,
And for his Courage oft in Combate shown.
None for the Gallic Int'rest did reveal
Or for the Pagan Altars warmer Zeal.
Palmida to the Valiant Man addrest,
And with the Language of a Crafty Priest,
His Rage against King Arthur did Excite,
And show'd it vain to meet his Arms in Fight.
Then by degrees Palmida did relate
How to compose the War, and save the State,
A brave Design was by a Party laid
With secret Arms King Arthur to invade.
The Reverend Ruffian then the Soldier prest
T'embark in this Design and lead the rest;
And promis'd for Reward he should not miss
Promotion here, hereafter Endless Bliss.
The generous Captain tho' amaz'd to hear
Such words from one of Holy Character,
Yet seemingly consented, and supprest
The generous Indignation in his Breast.
The Priest retir'd, and valiant Derodan
With horror seiz'd, thus to himself began.

   In what dire Crimes will Sacerdotal Rage,
And eager Bigotry Mankind engage?
Shall I this desperate, black Design pursue,
And in a Monarch's Blood these hands embrue?
Hands that did ne'er Clandestine weapons Sway
Ne'er slew a Foe, but in a generous way:
That none but in the Field have e'er destroy'd,
Shall they in Murthering Princes be employ'd?
If so, what Vengeful Plagues must I expect?
Against this Head what Bolts will Heav'n direct?
To various Gods I offer up my Vows,
But Murther none of all those Gods allows.
Let Pontificial Biggots still contend
That we our State, and Altars to defend,
May any way, and any Weapon chuse,
May hallow'd Poyson, or Stilletto's use.
That we the Christians progress to arrest
May leave the Ponyard in their Monarchs Breast.
Such Priests, and such dire Maxims I abhor
Nor would the Gods pleas'd with such Deeds adore.
Th' Immortal Powers I always understood
Were Merciful, Beneficent, and Good;
Swift to relieve our wants, to punish slow,
Who perfect Justice in their Empire show.
Such Cruelty, and Treacherous Violence
Those pure and Righteous Beings must incense.
I'll for our Altars, and my Country weild
All honourable Arms in open Field.
To save this Realm undaunted I'll oppose
The greatest Dangers, and the Fiercest Foes:
But I detest this Ignominious Deed
No Prince by me Perfidiously shall bleed.

   Then Uriel Heav'ns high Order to obey,
Did his Immortal Wings on high display,
And from th' Empyreal Turrets down the Sky
To valiant Derodan did swiftly fly.
The Radiant Envoy quickly did prepare
A youthful Shape, mild Eyes and Cheeks of Air.
Then did he Silence break, and thus began,
You bravely have exprest, undaunted Man,
Your just Abhorrence of the black Design
In which a Band of barb'rous Franks combine.
But from the Heav'nly Regions I descend
To let you know that here you must not end.
You must the dire Confed'racy disclose
To save the Monarch from Clandestine Foes.
If Arthur 's blood is by the Ruffians spilt
By not preventing it, you share the Guilt.
Heav'n has by valiant Derodan decreed,
To disappoint the black, Inhumane Deed.
Go then and let that Prince his Danger know,
Let him his Safety to thy Vertue owe.
That said, the Cherub from the place withdrew,
And to the Seats of Peace and Pleasure flew.
The Starry Stranger gone, the Frank revolv'd
The Message in his Mind and soon resolv'd
To pay obedience; then with eager Zeal
He went th' Important Secret to reveal.
Conducted by the Stars uncertain Light
He at the Briton 's Camp arriv'd by Night.
The watchful Out-guards who oppos'd his way
To the great Arthur did the Frank convey.
Admitted to his Presence Derodan,
First low Obeisance made, and then began.

   Hither I come great Monarch to detect
A black Design that do's your Life respect.
A bloody Band with Hellish fury fir'd,
Against your Royal Person have conspir'd.
I Gallia 's Gods and Goddesses adore,
And with th' advancement of Lutetia 's power:
But can't believe that for Religion's sake,
I with the Ponyard may a Prince attack.
Th' Immortal Powers to serve Religion's Cause
Ne'er gave Command to break thro' Nature's Laws.
Perfidious Outrage, Murther, Violence,
Tho' us'd to serve the Gods, the Gods incense.
When therefore by Palmida prest to joyn
With bloody Men engag'd in this Design,
My Soul the barb'rous motion did detest,
And various Passions strove within my Breast.
While with my thoughts Opprest, a glorious God
Descended to me from his high abode.
He seem'd Apollo by his Beamy Face,
His blooming Beauty, and his Youthful Grace.
Then did the bright Divinity direct,
That hasting to your Camp I should detect
The horrid Plot against your Life design'd,
And now I must perform the task enjoyn'd.
Then did the valiant Frank the King instruct
Who were the Chiefs, that did th' Affair conduct.
And where, and how, and when they had agreed
To wreek their Malice by th' inhumane Deed.
Then said, do you, great Prince, due Caution take,
And for their hidden Arms enquiry make.
I, that my Message may Belief obtain,
Will under Guard within your Camp remain;
That if my Words are false your Vengeful hand
May Death inflict, such as my Crimes demand.

   The pious Arthur prais'd the generous Zeal
Which mov'd the Frank this Treach'ry to reveal.
And gave Command he should Rewards receive
Such as great Kings do to great Merit give;
If the Succeeding Morn should clearly shew
The Plot discover'd by the Frank, was true.
Now had the Sun disclos'd the Mountains heads,
And pour'd warm glory on the reeking Meads.
Clotar arose, and soon with Eager speed
Came mounted on his Mauritanian Steed,
Attended with th' Assassins some as Priests,
Some habited as Heralds to the Lists.
Ensigns of Peace and Piety they bore,
But treach'rous Arms beneath their Vestments wore.
The Armys on the Plain drawn in Array
On either Side did at a distance stay.
Except the Troops who with their Shields reclin'd
And Spears erect the Palisado 's lin'd.

   Next Albion 's King advanc'd with God-like Grace
Born on a Courser of Eborac Race.
The Franks with Wonder and with Fear behold
His Martial Port, and Arms adorn'd with Gold.
All by their Looks their inward Joy declare
That now he came for Peace, and not for War.
The Terror of Lutetia brightly shone
In Armour clad, so well in Battel known.
Advancing near to Clotar thus he cry'd,
Have I in vain on Clotar 's Vows rely'd?
'Tis hard, to think a Monarch should agree
T' Assault my Life by Barb'rous Treachery.
That with Assassins Clotar should combine,
Approve, Abet, and Aid their black Design.
This on a Prince so great a Stain would prove,
As Rivers cannot cleanse, or Time remove.
Yet, valiant Franks, and faithful Britons , know
That one who seems a brave and generous Foe,
Has unconstrain'd, unsought, unask'd, declar'd
That Clotar has Perfidious Arms prepar'd.
That these who Heralds and as Priests appear,
Beneath their Robes short Swords and Ponyards wear.
That these are Veteran Ruffians in disguise,
Intending to Assault me by Surprise
When I dismount, and to the Altar go,
To Ratify the Peace by solemn Vow.
I doubtful, neither wholly disbelieve
The Charge, nor to it wholly Credit give.
But if unjust these Accusations are,
Then let the Search their Innocence declare.
But if their Guilt will not the Search abide,
The Charge is then too plain to be deny'd.

   He said. King Clotar all enrag'd to find,
That Arthur knew the Treachery design'd,
Exclaiming loud, to Franks and Britons cry'd,
To break the Treaty what mean Arts are try'd?
What wild Suggestions, what vile Shifts are these,
Which Arthur uses to retard the Peace?
And do's the Briton thus his Faith betray,
Yet by malicious Accusations lay
On us the Guilt, 'tis plain his hostile Mind
Is not to Peace, but to the Sword inclin'd.
Since Arthur still on Blood and Slaughter bent,
Eludes the Treaty, I to Arms consent.
The Guilt he has suggested I abhor,
No Prince to purge himself should offer more.

   He said, and drawing off his Treacherous Band,
Rejoyn'd his Army, which at his Command
Did with Precipitation leave the Plain,
Lutetia 's Bulwarks and strong Walls to gain.
To line the Ramparts some Battalions flew,
The rest themselves within Lutetia threw,
Resolv'd the mighty City to defend,
On which the fate of Gallia did depend.
Mean time King Arthur did his Army head,
And to th' Attack the eager Britons led.

   The Gallic Lords Lutetia 's Works to Guard,
Against th' Invader all things had prepar'd.
Bosar as Chief did in the Lines Command,
The Gallic King within the Town remain'd.
The British Youth advancing in Array
Their Ensigns o'er the Neighb'ring Fields display.
From their high Towers the Franks observe from far
The rising Storm, and rolling Tyde of War.
Before his Troops the mighty Briton rode
Glorious in Arms, like some Terrestrial God.
As when Britannia 's Trading Fleets, that run
For Indian Treasures to the rising Sun,
Beneath the Equinoctial Line have spy'd
A Spout ascending from the boiling Tyde,
Whose watry Obelisk do's threat'ning rise,
And thrusts his towring head amidst the Skies
The Sailors pale with Consternation, dread
Th' impending Tempest gathering o'er their head
With no less Terror did the trembling Gauls ,
See Albion 's King advancing to their Walls.

   Then Cutar with his Monarch did prevail,
That he might first Lutetia 's Works Assail.
Onwards he march'd with a select Brigade,
Th' advanc'd Redoubts with Vigour to invade.
The Chief on Fame and Martial Glory bent,
To Storm the lofty Works with pleasure went.
He strove to be the foremost in the Fight,
For Danger was his Favorite Delight.
His Ardor, chearful Looks, and Martial Fire,
Did all his Troops with double Life inspire.
As when a Dolphin sports upon the Tyde,
Displays his Beautys, and his Scaly Pride
His various colour'd Arch adorns the Flood,
Like a bright Rain-bow in a watry Cloud:
He from the Billows leaps with gamesome strife,
Wanton with Vigour and Immoderate Life.
With so much Spirit swelling all his Veins,
The sprightly Briton fled along the Plains.
With more Delight he went to Charge the Foe,
Than eager Bridegrooms to their Nuptials go.
Approaching to the Works, the Warriour threw
His glitt'ring Dart, and great Orander slew:
Between the lower Ribs it pierc'd his Side,
And did the Midriff, as it pass'd, divide.
The Frank a while with labour drew his Breath,
Then fell, and posted to the Shades beneath.
Before Lutetia saw the British Arms,
Orander vanquish'd by Pulcrina 's Charms
Long Woed, and won at last the beauteous Maid
By promis'd Nuptials, but his Faith betray'd:
To shun th' entreatys of the injur'd Fair,
The Faithless Youth did to the Camp repair.
But when she found her Prayers and Tears deny'd,
Enrag'd Pulcrina thus despairing cry'd:
And can Orander thus unconstant prove,
Break all the Bonds of Vows, and those of Love?
Is he regardless of my Beauty grown?
Will he expose my Honour, and his own?
Will the wild Savage no Compassion show?
Will he forsake Pulcrina? will he go,
And leave me thus o'erwhelm'd with Shame and Woe?
Go, Perjur'd Wretch, but midst the fighting Throng,
May some insulting Foe revenge my Wrong.
May some just God direct his glitt'ring Dart,
And guide the point to thy Perfidious Heart:
Then think of me, and rack'd with Torment ly,
In pangs of Guilt, and Throws of Horror dy.
The fatal Curses flew around his Head,
And Cutar 's Dart aveng'd the injur'd Maid.

   With like Success his second Dart he threw,
Which swiftly past, and strong Orellan slew.
It thro' his Windpipe and his Gullet made
Its fatal way, and in his Neckbone stay'd.
His Elder Brother Colon he destroy'd
By secret Poison, and his Lands enjoy'd.
Old Meda famous for her Art prepar'd
The deadly Draught, and had a great Reward.
He now by Cutar 's Arms of Life bereft
Fell, and his Wealth and great Possessions left.
Next Boser sprung from Solon 's noble Blood
In splendid Armour on the Rampart stood.
His Stature graceful, Courtly was his Air,
And costly Oyls perfum'd his Limbs and Hair.
He by the Dames was with Applauses crown'd,
Of all the Dancing Nation most renown'd.
He came, as if he did expect to fall
Embalm'd before-hand for his Funeral.
When Cutar saw him on the Works appear,
With great Disdain he threw his massy Spear.
Which thro' his Coat of Mail and Crimson Vest
His Bosom pierc'd, and lodg'd within his Breast.
The fragrant Warriour felt the fatal Wound,
Fell on the Rampart, and perfum'd the Ground.

   Next on the Bulwark Zolon did advance,
Tho' void of Worth, of wondrous Arrogance.
Deform'd alike in Body and in Mind,
And more to scare, then Charge a Foe design'd.
His livid Eyes retreating from the Day
Deep in their hollow Orbits buried lay.
His Back-bone standing out, drew in his Breast,
This Shoulder elevated, that Deprest,
And his foul Chin his odious Bosom prest.
Long little Legs, such has the stalking Crane,
His short ill figur'd Body did sustain.
Still Mutinys he in the Army rais'd,
Bursting with Spleen to hear another prais'd.
Meager with Malice, with Ill nature worn,
And with th' envenom'd teeth of Envy torn
To vent his Spite he labour'd to defame
The Chiefs, whose Valour had advanc'd their Name.
His pois'nous Tongue did all great Heros wound,
Reviling those whom all with Honour crown'd.
Some envious Men his Calumnys approv'd,
And all who Merit hated, Zolon lov'd.
Cutar with Indignation at him cast
His mighty Spear, which thro' his Body past.
Down Zolon fell, and tortur'd with his Wound
In Rage and Anguish beat, and bit the Ground.

   Now Cutar mounts the Works with Sword in hand
And that his Troops should follow gave Command.
The fearless Men the lofty Works ascend
Which with projected Arms the Foes defend.
Britons and Franks prodigious Courage show,
And crimson Rivers down the Bulwarks flow.
Arms meet with Arms, Fauchions with Fauchions clash,
And sparks of Fire struck out from Armour flash.
Thick clouds of Dust contending Warriours raise,
And hideous War o'er all the Region brays.
Tempests of Darts and showers of Arrows sing,
And all the Heav'ns with dreadful Clamour ring.

   Mean time great Stannel with his valiant Band
Attacked the Works where Bofar did Command.
Nor Clouds of flying Darts, nor storms of Fire
Could force the Valiant Leader to retire.
Midst showers of Stones which fell like Summers Hail,
Th' undaunted Hero did the Foe Assail.
Mounting the Bulwark's brow, he forward prest,
And quickly with the Foe came Breast to Breast.
Here the brave Man Immortal Deeds perform'd,
And with resistless force the high Entrenchment storm'd.
First Baradan his fatal Weapon felt,
Who on the Banks of fair Matrona dwelt:
The mighty Fauchion passing thro' the Side
With its sharp edge the Liver did divide:
The blood gush'd out from the large hollow Vein
And mixt with Choler did the ground distain.
Then Ostacar a Bellovasian Lord
High lifted in the Air his flaming Sword.
Against the Foe he meant a mortal stroke,
But on his Shield th' unfaithful Weapon broke.
While for another Sword aloud he cry'd,
The Briton 's Fauchion did his Throat divide.
The gasping Wound pour'd forth a Crimson flood,
Down fell the Warriour Strangled in his Blood.
The Conquerour next Stellander did attack,
And drove his mighty Spear thro' Breast and Back:
For Astrologic Science he was fam'd,
By all that lov'd the Art with honour nam'd.
He oft Collected from the Conscious Stars
The Fall of Empires, and th' Event of Wars.
He could predict a rising Fav'rite's Fate,
The Death of Kings, and mighty Turns of State.
To him the Heav'nly Orbs had often shown
The fate of others, but conceal'd his own.
Nor Arms nor Science could his Life protect
Against the Spear the Briton did direct.
Then Soron, Harim , and Germander dy'd
By Stannel 's Arms, all three in Blood ally'd.
Thirsty of Glory and of Martial Fame
These from the Verdant Vale together came,
Where ling'ring Liger draws along the Plain
Thro' flowry Labyrinths his Silver train.
Next in his tortur'd Bowels Drapar felt
The Conquerour's Spear beneath his shining Belt.
The fainting Warriour fell, but from his Wound
His Entrails gushing out first reach'd the ground.

   By this time Erla, at a third Attack
Had Storm'd the Works, and chas'd the Squadrons back.
He on the Foe with so much Fury prest,
That soon their high Entrenchments he possest.
With mighty Slaughter he pursu'd the Gauls ,
Who fled to save themselves within their Walls.
When Valiant Ansel saw his Friends retreat,
He made a Sally from the Eastern Gate,
And cry'd aloud, What means this shameful Flight?
Assert your Honour, and renew the Fight.
Hear from the Walls your Wives and Children cry,
Whither will these inglorious Cowards fly?
Will they expose us to th' invading Foe,
To all the Rage insulting Conquerours show?
Must we endure the haughty Briton 's scorn,
And his proud Triumphs led in Chains adorn?
Where are the Heros, where the Valiant Franks ,
Who on th' astonish'd Rhine, and Mosa 's Banks
By Martial Deeds acquir'd Immortal Fame,
And laden home with Spoils and Laurels came;
Who from the Field in Triumph still return'd,
And with their Trophys our high Domes adorn'd.
Do you your selves the Progeny pretend
Of these great Men, who did so well defend
Their Country, and so far their Power extend.
Ye Valiant Chiefs, so oft with Conquest crown'd,
Ye mighty Shades, who did our Empire found,
How will you all Despise, Disdain, Disown
Your Sons, so feeble, so degenerate grown?
Prevent, O Franks, their Grief, prevent your Shame,
You fight not now for Empire, and for Fame,
But for your Being, for your Gods, and all
Which you can either Dear, or Sacred call.
Advance then, Franks, your ancient Courage show,
I'll lead your Squadrons on to Charge the Foe.

   He said, and burning with a Martial Rage,
The Chief march'd on th' Invaders to engage.
The Franks turn'd back, inspir'd by Ansel 's words,
And once more brandish'd their Refulgent Swords.
Then in a noble Fight their Strength they tr'd,
And many Heros fell on either side.
Lofel, Alduran ; Streban , Otho slew,
And Graman 's Javelin pierc'd Athleta thro'.
Orfaber 's Spear pierc'd great Elmondo 's Side,
Barnel by Humbert 's Arms, and Omar dy'd.

   Then Valiant Erla, Loran did Attack,
The Spear transfixt his Stomach and his Back.
From the Vogesian Mountains Loran came,
To signalize his Arms, and raise his Fame:
His wealthy Father late of Life bereft,
Had to his Son four noble Mannors left.
His Mother lab'ring with Prophetic Fears,
With unsuccessful Prayers, and fruitless Tears,
Ev'n on her Knees long strove to overcome
His Martial Zeal, and keep the Youth at home.
Now in his dying Throws too late he said,
Would I my Mother's Counsel had obey'd.

   Then Valiant Cubal, Arpan did invade,
But on his temper'd Buckler broke his Blade.
Cubal who midst the wresting Rings had won
In great Augusta 's Squares so much Renown,
Ran in, and with an unexpected War
Made Arpan 's Heels fly up amidst the Air.
Flat on his Back the Warriour prest the Sand,
Strait the Victorious Briton from his hand
Did with main Force the flaming Fauchion wrest
Then plung'd the Weapon deep into his Breast.

    Vebba with Martial Rage, on Carlot prest,
And with his Back-Sword hop'd to cleave his Crest.
The Warriour's Head the erring Weapon mist,
But cut the Veins and Sinews of his Wrist.
The Frank unable more his Arms to weild,
Dropt on the ground his Sword and mighty Shield.
   First, in his wounded Veins did Strabor feel
The fatal Edge of Ansel 's glitt'ring Steel.
Deep in his Sides between his Ribs it sunk,
And cut in two the large Arterial Trunk,
Thro' which the Heart throws up the Vital Flood,
The Briton fell, and delug'd lay in Blood.

   Then Heban, who had left fair Deva 's Banks,
To make this great Campaign against the Franks ,
Who Gallic Power, and Gallic Faith abhorr'd,
Dy'd near Lutetia 's Walls by Ansel 's Sword.
His Fauchion next thro' Rollo 's Helmet broke,
And cut in sunder with the furious stroke
His Hairy Scalp, which hung below the Ear,
And left the Skull in ghastly manner bare.
Back to his Tent the wounded Hero came,
Where great Bernardo of Immortal Fame
For his Chirurgic Skill, gave quick Relief,
Stitcht up the gaping Lips, and heal'd the wounded Chief.

    Toson, a noble, valiant, wondrous Boy,
His Father's Pride, and his fond Mother's Joy,
Who ne'er till now had grip'd a Shield or Lance,
To Charge the Frank, undaunted did advance.
The Frank despis'd him, and exclaiming cry'd,
I'll soon chastise your Arrogance and Pride;
Ambitious Youth, too soon the Field you take,
And for the Camp too soon the School forsake.
You should at home have with your Sisters play'd,
And her great Comfort with your Mother stay'd.
Heav'ns! that a Boy should Gallic Chiefs provoke,
Toson while thus th' insulting Warriour spoke,
Aim'd at his shining Helm a noble Stroke.
The prosperous Weapon thro' the Buckler past,
And Ansel 's Arm beneath the Shoulder raz'd.
From the divided Veins the Blood flew out,
The Britons gave a loud applauding Shout.
The Frank enrag'd, attack'd the Beardless Foe,
Threatning to take his Head off at a Blow.
Thro' the Youth' s Shield the Fauchion passage found,
Inflicting on his Neck a painful Wound.
The Britons strait rush'd in to give him Aid,
And to the Rear th' advent'rous Youth Convey'd.
Ansel retir'd, and Interposing Night
Parted the Warriours, and broke off the Fight.
The Britons kept the Outworks, and the Gauls
Retreating sav'd themselves within their Walls.

BOOK XII

    Mean time the Gallic Monarch sore distrest;
With dreadful Thoughts and anxious Cares opprest
Sought rest in vain upon his downy Bed,
With Tyrian Purple and fine Linnen spred.
From side to side he did in Torment roll,
But turn'd in vain to Ease his restless Soul.
Short were his Slumbers, often would he start,
And wildly stare, while with her painful Dart,
Insulting Conscience stab'd him to the heart.
Ten thousand Horrours did his thoughts affright,
And ghastly Figures pass'd before his sight.
Distracting Agonys and wild Despair,
Did from their roots his guilty Heart-strings tear.
Sometimes he thought he heard the dismal cry
Of suff'ring Prisoners begging leave to dy.
He saw extended Martyrs on the Rack,
And thought he heard their tortur'd Members crack.
He saw poor Widdows delug'd in their tears,
And Crys of helpless Orphans fill'd his Ears:
Widdows and Orphans which the Ruffian's hand,
Had thro' all Gallia made at his command.
The Ghosts of those he murther'd fill'd the place,
And threatning stood, and star'd him in the Face.
Around his Bed dire Apparitions walk'd,
And Stygian Terrours thro' the Apartment stalk'd.
Then starting up and leaping from his Bed,
Thus to himself the restless Monarch said.
What Tragic Scenes before my eyes appear,
What inward Whips my tortur'd Bowels tear?
Fierce Vipers twist their Spires about my Heart,
And Bite, and Sting, and Wound with deadly smart
With more than Atlas weight my Soul's opprest,
And raging Tempests beat along my breast:
Corroding Flames eat thro' my burning veins,
And all within I feel Infernal Pains.
As oft as Arthur has my Troops assail'd,
His Arms by Heav'n assisted have prevail'd.
The Victor of our Out-works is possest,
He next Lutetia from our hands will wrest
Must Gallia 's Empire fall by Arthur 's Sword,
And Clotar 's house obey a British Lord?
Must Tributary Gallia be condemn'd
To serve a Prince which I so much contemn'd?
Forbid it all ye Gods, that such a Fate
Should e'er befall the high Lutetian State.
If Heav'n will not assist, I'll try if Hell,
But from these Gates the British King repel.

   He said. And on his impious Purpose bent,
Attended only with Palmida went,
To find the fam'd Enchantress Maneton ,
His Dignity conceal'd, his Name unknown.
When they had found her, to the Sorceress,
Thus did the Gallic King himself express.
Wisest of Women, whose controuling sway,
The dark Dominions of the Dead obey:
Whose Charms can all the Nations move that dwell,
Thro' all the spacious Continent of Hell.
Who can departed Men restore to Light,
From the low Shades and dark Abyss of Night.
At your Command th' awaken'd Dead will rend
Their Tombs, and thro' the cleaving Ground ascend.
We may, if you with potent words are pleas'd
To bring them up, converse with Friends deceas'd.
Now mighty Woman, I your Aid implore,
You'll find me grateful, pray exert your Power.
Your Force let all th' Infernal Regions know,
And bring back hither from the Shades below
A faithful Friend, whose presence I desire,
Whose wise Advice, my pressing Wants require.

   Then did th' Enchantress bid him name his Friend,
Whom he desir'd should from beneath ascend.
Bellcoran is the Man, the King reply'd,
Who did the Gallic Arms and Councils guide.
Then did th' Enchantress with accustom'd care,
Her noxious Herbs and Magic Drugs prepare.
She fetch'd white Poppys, Henbane, Aconite,
Bald Toad-stools, Savine Tops, all which by Night,
The wandring Sorceress was us'd to cull
In neighb'ring Mountains, when the Moon was Full.
All these she stampt, with more of Magic use,
And from the Mass prest out the potent Juice.
The green Enchantment in a Caldron flow'd,
To which she pour'd a Bowl of humane blood.
Then did the Sorc'ress in the Center stand,
And drew dire Circles with her Magic Wand:
She mutter'd with her Voice mysterious sounds,
And terms with which the Hellish Art abounds.

   Nature molested, felt the powerful Charm,
And various Terrors did the World alarm.
The starting Planets from their Orbits flew,
The lab'ring Moon sick and uneasie grew,
And far from sight the wandring Stars withdrew.
Hoarse Thunder murmur'd with a hollow sound,
And heaving Tempests bellow'd under ground.
Contending Elements with horrid Fight,
Did vex the Air, and guilty Minds affright.
Clouds, Hurricanes, and Lightnings did conspire,
To pour down Floods of Rain, and Floods of Fire.
Dun, Dusky Demons troubled all the Air,
And Ghosts were heard to groan in deep Despair.
Around the house, tremendous to behold,
Vast Dragons flew, prodigious Serpents rowl'd,
And treble-headed Hell-hounds yell'd and howl'd.
The Pavement trembled, and the Dwelling shook,
And thro' the King a shiv'ring Horrour struck.
Then did th' Enchantress to the Monarch cry,
I from beneath a God ascending Spy.
Speak, said the King, what Aspect do's he wear,
And tell the Form in which he do's appear.
The Sorc'ress cry'd, he is in Armour clad,
His Mien is Martial, but his Eyes are sad.
Thro' th' opening Ground he do's Reluctant come,
Behold, he now appears within the Room.

    Bellcoran then the Monarch thus bespoke;
Why do's King Clotar Magic Aids invoke?
Why have you thus compell'd me to arise,
And brought me back to these unwelcom Skies?
The King reply'd: With heavy Cares opprest,
I'm forc'd Bellcoran to disturb thy Rest.
When thou wert here, Success I always found,
And triumph'd o'er the vanquish'd Realms around.
Thou both my Champion and my wisest Friend,
Didst guide my Councils, and my Throne defend.
Thy Arms the Gallic Greatness did support,
And made Submissive States my Friendship court.
Since thy departure Gallia 's Empire shakes,
The mighty Fabrick unsupported, cracks.
Before Lutetia 's Gates the Britons ly,
Before their Arms our trembling Cohorts fly.
They by Assault have our high Bulwarks won,
And now lie ready to invade the Town.
With such resistless Fury they Attack,
In vain the Franks contend to drive them back.
So black a Storm o'er Gallia 's Realm impends,
So sad a Fate, Lutetia, thee attends!
And must King Arthur with a Victor's Pride,
Thro' high Lutetia 's Streets in Triumph ride?
Must great Lutetia from her Empire fall,
And Foreign Lords insult the Captive Gaul?
And shall the proud Oppressors mock our Crys,
And whom they fear'd and envy'd, now despise?
Shall British Masters to enrich their Isle,
Freight their proud Navys with Lutetia 's Spoil?
O Gallia , this! this is thy heavy doom!
Unless some unexpected Succours come.
In these extream Affairs, thus sore distrest,
In such a strait, and with such danger prest,
I am constrain'd to call thee from thy Rest.
My Prayers are fruitless to the Gods, in vain
I've Rams and Bullocks at their Altars slain.
The Gods are Deaf, their Oracles are Dumb,
No Powers invok'd to our Assistance come.
Of Heav'n forsaken, whither shall I go?
The Gods have all deserted to the Foe.
In this Distress, Bellcoran, Counsel give,
What means can Gallia 's sinking State retrieve?
By what sure Methods may the Gods be brought,
To fight for Gallia, who for Gallia fought?

   He ceas'd: And thus Bellcoran did reply,
In vain, O Prince, to Magic Arts you fly,
To gain those Succours which the Gods deny.
In vain your Charms the Courts of Death invade,
Hell cannot give, if Heav'n refuses Aid.
Their Presence if Celestial Gods deny,
No friendly Helps their absence can supply.
Since Heav'n forsakes you, no Infernal Power,
No Humane Force your Empire can secure.
No means are left to prop your sinking State,
Your Doom's decreed by never changing Fate.
Lutetia 's Crimes which righteous Heav'n provoke,
Bow down her neck beneath the British Yoke.
Your Cruelty, O King, and thirst of Blood,
Your Persecution of the Just and Good,
Your Pride, Ambition, Breach of Solemn Vows
Are more destructive than your Foreign Foes.
These strong Domestic Enemys betray,
Lutetia 's Empire to the British sway.
These furious War with Gallia 's Monarch wage,
And angry Heav'n against your Arms engage.
Who can a Realm from Wrath Divine protect,
And save a Monarch whom the Gods reject?
Plainly I speak, the Dead will flatter none,
From thee the Kingdom's rent, the Scepter gone,
And Pious Clovis shall ascend thy Throne.
By Arthur rais'd, he Gallia shall command,
And Rule with just and equal Laws her Land.
Thus Heav'n Decrees thy Punishment at last,
This is thy Fate irrevocably past.
No more, O King, shall I arise to thee,
But thou to morrow shalt descend to me.

   He said. And from the Apartment did retreat,
And thro' the Ground sunk to his Stygian seat.
The King, as if with Thunder struck, fell down,
And Breathless lay extended in a Swoon.
The Sorceress to whom the King appear'd
Greatly disturb'd and mov'd by what he heard,
Scream'd out, and fetch'd reviving Essences,
Rich Spirits, Od'rous Balsams, and with these
She rub'd his Nostrils, Temples, and his Neck,
Till he awaken'd, and began to speak.
Then Maneton the Monarch did constrain,
With Wine and Meat his Spirits to sustain.
That done the troubled King th' Enchantress left,
Of all his Hopes, and all support bereft.
He to his Palace came when dawning Day
Began to spring, and streak the Eastern way.
Wild was his Aspect, sad as Death his Air,
And on his Brows state Horrour and Despair.
Distracted Gestures, and deep Sighs confest,
The inward pangs and torment of his Breast.
Conscience enrag'd a fiercer Ravager,
Than ravening Vultures, Did his Bowels tear.
Around his Veins envenom'd Adders clung,
And to the Heart the tortur'd Monarch stung.
Vengeance Divine upon his Soul was pour'd,
And unextinguish'd Flames his Life devour'd.
Now on the Bed his restless Limbs he threw,
Now started up, and round th' Apartment flew.
Oft in a threatning Posture did he stand,
And on his mighty Fauchion lay'd his hand.
Sometimes he Curs'd, Blasphem'd, and Rav'd aloud,
Then on a suddain, Mute and Stupid stood.
At last he gave in these expressions vent
To the sad Thoughts, that did his Soul torment.

   The Kingdom from me rent! the Scepter gone!
And Pious Clovis shall ascend the Throne!
Prevent it all ye Powers; this cannot be:
Can Henav'n to such unrighteous Deeds agree?
Belcoran says it, he must be believ'd,
A heavy Doom, and ne'er to be retriev'd.
And has his God sav'd Clovis from my Hand,
That he might Gallia in my stead Command?
Curst be the Fatal Inauspicious Day,
Which to my Eyes did the first Light convey.
Curst be the luckless Hour in which I broke
My Infant Fetters, and the Womb forsook.
O think it not, Celestial Powers, a Crime,
To raze that Day from the Records of Time.
Let it for ever perish, cut the Link
That fastens it to Time, and let it sink.
Let this unhappy Day return no more,
But let the Year in passing leap it o'er.
Let it be sunk, let it for ever Sleep
Swallow'd and lost in vast Duration's Deep.
But if this Day in turn must be restor'd,
Let it for Clouds and Darkness be abhor'd.
Let not a glimpse of Light, no chearful Ray
Distinguish from the Night this dismal Day.
Let it by no good Omen be endear'd,
Let no reviving Sounds of Joy be heard.
Let Lamentations, Groans and dreadful Crys,
With their sad Accents fill the troubled Skys.
By marks of Horror let it still be known,
And prove unprosprous, till 'tis hateful grown;
Till Men this Day, as some great Judgment mourn
And Pray, and With it never may return.

   Oh! Why did ne'er a blest Abortion blast
This Life, that must expire in Shame at last?
Why was not Clotar strangled in the Birth,
Why had my Mother Strength to bring me forth?
Why did not fatal Pangs and Labour Throws,
Destroy, and save me from these mighty Woes?
On Gallia 's Throne must haughty Clovis sit?
Must she to take his Yoke her Neck submit?
Ye Powers why do's your Vengeance thus pursue
A Prince whose Guilt is Piety to you?
Push'd on by Zeal for Heav'n I first embru'd,
My reeking hands in Slaughter'd Christians Blood.
And is this wretched End the sad Reward,
Which you to Crown my Labours have prepar'd?
Against the Gods just is my discontent,
They either are Unjust, or Impotent;
Who leave me thus to an inglorious Fate,
And thus desert the Pious Gallic State.
Who will Devotion at their Altars pay?
Who will regard them, or their Priests obey?
Who on their Power and Favour will depend?
Who will their Groves and Shrines henceforth defend?
If they their Vot'ry thus desert at last,
Forget my Zeal, and pious Labours past?

   Hereafter may the Franks revenge my Fate,
And to the Britons bear Immortal Hate.
May some great Man, or some great Woman rise,
T' assert Lutetia 's Gods and Liberties.
Who may the Britons from this Region chase,
And leave no Footsteps of the impious Race.
That may the Honour of our Arms restore,
Rebuild our Altars, and regain our Power.
Franks, think it just all methods to employ,
To spoil Britannia, and her Sons destroy.
By Wiles, and Frauds, or Force, th' advantage take,
And only to betray them Friendship make.
May Britons still your specious Words believe,
May you as oft th' uncautious Foe deceive.
In Peace and War let them be equal Foes,
And let your Int'rest rule your Faith and Vows.
Still let your Arts the Easy Race beguile,
And when they blame you, at their Folly smile.
Whate'er they win by Courage in the Field,
Let them by Treaty back to Gallia yield.
Where Power, and all perfidious Measures fail,
Let Gallia 's Women's stronger Arts prevail.
Let Albion 's Youth yield to their powerful Charms,
Dissolve in Pleasures, and neglect their Arms.
Let these soft Conquerours teach them to obey,
Enslave their Princes, and their State betray.
Let our Men's Malice, and our Women's Love,
To Albion 's Realm alike destructive prove.

   This day before the Sun must Clotar set,
And in the Shades below Belcoran meet?
Must I my Empire and my Friends forsake,
Of Gallia my Eternal Farewel take?
But why do I thus idly vex the Air,
And vent in fruitless Accents my Despair?
Tho' my Complaints are just, yet 'tis in vain
To rave at Heav'n, and all the Gods arraign.
I am, 'tis true, by partial Powers opprest,
But how shall Heav'ns Injustice be redrest?
Complaining thus, fresh Sufferings I create,
But can't decline Irrevocable Fate.
While Life remains, 'tis better to employ
My utmost Power the Britons to destroy.
With Sword in Hand th' Invader I'll repel,
And at the dearest rate my Life will sell.
Since I must fall, let me incircled ly
With heaps of slaughter'd Christians, when I dy.
Since I these Regions must forsake, I'll go
Attended well to the Cold Shades below.
As a tall Oak do's with a mighty Sound,
Bring with its fall the Forest to the ground;
So would I lie with Spoils encompass'd round.
Oh that my Arms could both the Poles embrace,
And wrest the World's strong Pillars from their Base,
That all the cracking Frame might be dis-joyn'd,
And bury in its Ruins Humane Kind.
Thus would I fall in Vengeance, as 'tis said
An injur'd Champion of the Hebrews did.

   He said. And raging did his Arms demand,
Then brandishing his Fauchion in his hand,
Onward the Monarch went to Head the Gauls ,
And led his Cohorts to defend the Walls.
Hopeless become he, therefore fearless grew,
And from Despair immoderate Courage drew.
He rav'd aloud, and boldly did invite
The British Monarch to renew the Fight.
So when a desp'rate Wretch in India bred,
To Death devotes his hot distemper'd Head,
The raging Murd'rer flys about the Streets,
And wounds with savage Outrage all he meets:
Till he himself receives a fatal Wound,
And weltring in his Blood distains the Ground.

   Mean time, the Valiant Britons did prepare
Their Arms, and all their Instruments of War;
Resolv'd by Storm Lutetia 's Walls to gain,
And with this Triumph end the great Campaign.
Before the furious Onset did Commence,
The Franks prepar'd to make a brave Defence.
Thick on the Walls the Gallic Youth appear'd,
And War-like noise thro' every Street was heard.
Some brought long Spears, vast Bars of Iron some,
Part arm'd with Darts, and part with Arrows come.
Some raging ran with huge Herculean Clubs,
Some massy Balls of Brass, some mighty Tubs
Of Cynders, some great Pots of Sulphur bore,
And some the Stones up from the Pavement tore.
What Instruments of Death came next to hand,
The Franks caught up, the Britons to withstand.
So when the Foe invades the Fragrant Cells
In which the Bees industrious Nation dwells;
The watchful Centinels the Signal give,
To raise the whole Militia of the Hive.
Strait mighty Uproar, Tumult, War-like sound
Thro' all the Waxy Labyrinth rebound.
From their high Seats the noisy Youth descend
In raging Troops, their Fortress to defend.
The trembling Roof resounds with threatning Swarms,
With Captains Fury, and the Din of Arms.

   Then Pious Arthur three Detachments made,
And gave Command Lutetia to invade
In three distinct Attacks; the Chiefs he nam'd
To lead the Troops, were all for Courage fam'd.
Cutar, to whom pale Fear was yet unknown,
With Death and Danger long familiar grown,
Was nam'd to lead the First, the Second Band
Talmar, the Third brave Maca did Command.
Boldly the Britons march'd to Storm the Walls,
And from their lofty Towers to chase the Gauls .
The Archers on the Foe their Arrows spent,
And their long Spears the raging Spearmen sent.
Some flaming Firebrands at the Turrets threw,
Here Oaken Trunchions, here bright Javelins flew.
Here glitt'ring Darts a bearded Tempest sung,
Here showers of Stones by skilful Hands were slung.
Part hurl'd up masly Balls of Iron, part
Threw Wild-fire temper'd with destructive Art;
Artillery more dreadful than the Sword,
Which Sodom 's Lake, and Ætna 's Caves afford
With Sulphur, Nitre, and Bitumen stor'd.
The Storm was dreadful, while prodigious Cries,
And War-like noise rang thro' th' astonish'd Skies.
Many brave Britons on the place expir'd,
And many Wounded from the Town retir'd.
Thus long th' undaunted Britons from beneath,
With missive Ruin, and projected Death,
Gaul'd the Lutetians, but in vain they strove,
From their strong Walls their Squadrons to remove.

   Then Cutar hot with Martial Fury, cry'd,
Enough, brave Friends of this; and then apply'd
His Scaling Ladder to the Walls, the rest
Provok'd by his Example, onward prest.
To guard their Heads against the impending War,
They joyn'd their Shields, and held them in the Air,
Which with Contiguous Brims a Covering made;
And thus advanc'd Lutetia to invade.
Cutar with noble Ardor in his Eyes,
Clad in Refulgent Arms began to rise.
Profuse of Life he mounted from beneath,
With Danger pleas'd, and negligent of Death:
Of Death which thick descended from the Wall
In all its Shapes, and horrible in all.
Spears, Arrows, Darts stuck in his batter'd Shield,
Thick as the Canes which crown an Indian Field.
A thousand Deaths he on his Shield sustain'd,
And the high Battlements had almost gain'd:
At last the Warriour by a Javelin struck,
Which past his Shield, and in his in-step stuck,
He was oblig'd to quit the hot Attack,
And by his Spear supported, halted back.
Hobbesian (who with Honour do's not name
Hobbesian? his has rais'd Britannia 's Fame)
Apply'd his Balm with wondrous Art prepar'd,
The Hero heal'd, and had a great Reward.

   Tho' from the Walls the Chief was forc'd to halt,
His Troops by Vebba led, renew'd th' Assault.
Beneath the brazen Canopy's high Roof,
Made by their Shields to beat the Tempest off,
They rais'd their Scaling Ladders to the Top
Of the high Battlements, and mounted up.
But still the Gallic Troops maintain'd their Post,
And many Valiant Chiefs the Britons lost.
Many were crush'd to pieces by the fall
Of Trees, and Rocks hurl'd from Lutetia 's Wall.
Some fell in Storms of Arrows, some in Showers
Of Darts projected from the lofty Towers.
Some were by massy Clubs of Life berest,
Some had their Heads by Battle-Axes cleft.
Part had their Brains dash'd out by Iron-Balls,
Which flying round bespatter'd all the Walls.
Some were with flaming Pitch or Sulphur burn'd,
Some from th' inclining Ladder headlong turn'd.
Some having gain'd the Battlement's high tops;
And leaping boldly midst the Gallic Troops,
Before their Shields were rais'd to ward the thrust,
Pierc'd with the Spear, fell Breathless to the Dust.

   Mean time in Arms great Talmar glorious Shone,
And with a noble fire assail'd the Town.
Illustrious Ansel did the Troops Command
Which Talmar 's valiant Squadron did withstand.
The Briton did his usual Ardor show,
And with amazing Courage Charg'd the Foe.
He show'd a Mind for great Atchievements form'd,
And midst a thousand Deaths, Lutetia storm'd.
Now he retreated, now he onward flew,
Tho' still repuls'd, did still th' Assault renew.
When he at last receiv'd a fatal Blow,
From a vast Stone which once th' impending Brow
Of some high Rock, fell down with weather worn,
Or from it's Airy Seat with Thunder torn.
Great Astroban with both his hands did throw
The craggy heap to crush th' adventrous Foe.
It did his nerves above the Knee-pan wound,
The Briton fell, and strecht along the ground,
His Friends came round, and to the Army's Rear
Did from the Walls with grief the Hero bear.

   Mean time, a Third Assault was carry'd on
By Maca, who Immortal Praises won.
Twice his Brigade with Vigour did Attack,
The lofty Walls, and twice was beaten back.
Maca enrag'd did the third time renew
The fierce Assault, and with his Ladder flew
To Scale the Town, boldly the Warriour rose,
And leap'd upon the Walls amidst the Foes.
He beat the Squadrons off, and leaping down
Maintain'd a noble Fight within the Town.
His Friends with wondrous Brav'ry strove to gain
The high rais'd Battlements, but strove in vain.
After a sharp Assault, the Walls at last
Lanar to follow Maca, only past.
So when the Sea urg'd by a furious Gale,
Musters his watry Squadrons to assail
A lofty Mound, that do's some Port defend,
In fruitless Insults they their Fury spend:
Yet some tall Waves that to the Storm advance
O'erlooking all the Ocean, may by chance
O'er the high Fence their liquid Mountain throw,
While all the rest defeated backward flow.
Soon, as great Maca saw his valiant Friend,
Let us, he cry'd, bravely our selves defend.
The Britons may a prosperous Onset make,
Bring us Relief, and Strong Lutetia take.
Let us howe'er the Gallic Troops defy,
Combate like Britons, and like Britons dy.
Let us such firm, unshaken Courage show,
As may at least intimidate the Foe:
Who when they see what Men the Town assail,
Will feel their Spirits sink, their Courage fail.
Thus by a great and honourable Fall
We shall dismay and help subdue the Gaul ,
And leave him heartless to defend the Wall.
Bravely the Chiefs th' invading Foe sustain'd,
And prest with whole Brigades, the Fight maintain'd.
Great numbers they destroy'd, and spread around
With sever'd Limbs, and gasping Heads the ground.
Long Back to Back th' unbroken Warriours stood,
Panting with Slaughter, red with hostile Blood.
Those of the Franks who hardier than the rest,
Close on the mighty Champions onward prest,
Did sure Destruction from the Fauchion meet,
And fell in heaps before the Conquerours feet.
Henceforth from every Side the Clamorous Foe,
Against the Chiefs, promiscous Weapons throw.
Spears, Javelins, Arrows, Darts across the Sky
In storms of bright Destruction round them fly.
A brave Defence they made, and each great Chief
Show'd Strength, and Courage which exceed Belief.
Their ample Orbs sustain'd a pondrous Wood
Of thick set Spears, that high and horrid stood.
Their Arms were blunted, and their Armour bruis'd,
And gaping Wounds their Blood around diffus'd.
Till faint with bloody Labour, Wounds and Pain
Lanar fell down and lay strecht out as slain.
Maca turn'd round, and o'er his Body stood
Bath' d in his Own, his Friends, and Gallic Blood.
With wondrous Constancy th' Intrepid Man
Beat off the thronging Troops, which on him ran.
Till Clotar hearing that the Walls were Scal'd,
Came to repel the Britons, and assail'd
With utmost Rage the Caledonian Chief,
Who bravely still maintain'd the War-like Strife.
At last, exhausted with expence of Blood,
Which from his gaping Wounds in Rivers flow'd,
He fell, and o'er his Friend expiring lay,
And gasp'd without a groan, his Life away.
So when strong Shipwrights fell a lofty Pine,
Which they a Mast for some tall Ship design,
With thick repeated Strokes, and frequent Wounds
The Mountain trembles, and the Wood resounds:
As yet th' unshaken Tree amidst the Skies,
Scarce nods his head, and the sharp Axe defies:
At last, his roots cut off, at every stroke,
He learns from side to side to roll and rock;
As he his fitness for the Work would shew,
Which when a Mast he must hereafter do.
Then on a suddain, with a mighty sound
He leaves the Heav'ns, and loads the groaning Ground.
Clotar rush'd in, and with the Fauchion's stroke,
Each Champion's Head from off his Shoulder took.
Which high amidst the Air on lofty Poles,
To daunt their Friends he planted on the Walls.
The Britons by the miserable Sight
Were not dismay'd; but more provok'd to Fight.
The Pious King by the sad Object mov'd,
For he the Warriors much esteem'd and lov'd;
Grasping a flaming Fir-Tree in his hand,
Flew to the Eastern Gate, and gave Command,
That his undaunted Troops should do the same,
And burn the Gate down with devouring Flame.
The British Youth their Valiant Prince obey'd,
And Trees and Timber to the Gate convey'd,
Where soon they rais'd a thick and lofty Wood,
Which, as thy Funeral Pile, Lutetia, stood.
Quickly the lighted Trees began to Choak
The Heav'ns around with tow'ring Flame, and Smoke.
Fast to the Gate th' incumbent Plague adher'd,
Which soon but one vast glowing Cole appear'd.
The ruddy Conq'rour with refulgent Arms
Climbs up the Towers, and all the Town alarms.
From the high Gate the melted Iron flow'd,
And on the ground a pond'rous Deluge glow'd.
The fierce Invader fasten'd on the Walls,
And from the cleaving Stones broke mighty Scales;
With ravening Teeth it tore vast pieces out,
And raging, threw the Fragments round about.
The Fire with such Success the Gate assail'd,
O'er Oaks, and Stones, and Bars of Brass prevail'd.
Some Franks, dismay'd to see the Burning spread,
Left the high Walls, and from its Terrour fled.
Some to the ground from the high Turrets came,
Smother'd with pitchy Smoke, and fry'd with Flame.
Some, who to quench the Burning, forward rush'd,
Were by the falling Heaps in pieces crush'd.
For the high Towers, the Gate, and shatter'd Wall,
In mingled Ruin now began to fall.
The cracking Structure, crackling Flames, and Cries
Dreadful to hear, distracted all the Skies.
Thus did the lofty Gate the Flames obey,
And on the ground in smoking Rubish lay.
The Streets were open to the Briton 's view,
To guard the Breach The Gallic Squadrons flew.

   Then Pious Arthur Waving o'er his Head
High in the Air, broad Caliburno, said
Come, follow, Britons, where I lead the way,
These Walls no longer can your progress stay.
Then with an ardor wholly Arthur 's own,
Such as before was ne'er in Battel shown,
Up the high Breach the fearless Monarch rose,
Resolv'd to cut his passage thro' his Foes:
To whom his glorious Arms more dreadful shone,
Then all the impetuous Flames before had done.
He did with Ease o'er the high Ruins leap,
And strode with mighty strides from Heap to Heap.
The Briton thus advanc'd; on the other hand
The Franks drew up his fury to withstand.
Marac did first the Briton 's course resist,
Threw his bright Javelin, but the Warriour mist.
Then his vast Spear the mighty Monarch cast,
Which all the folds of the thick Buckler past.
Thence thro' his Skull it passage did obtain,
And pierc'd the inmost Marrow of the Brain;
Where the melodious Strings of Sense are found
Up to a due and just extension wound;
All tun'd for Life, and fitted to receive
Th' harmonious strokes which outward Objects give.

   Great Stuffa next oppos'd the King who came,
From Alpine Mountains to advance his Fame.
The mighty Allobrog all swoln with rage,
Shook his long Ash preparing to engage.
A Breast, and Back, and Boots of Brass he wore,
Dreadful for Arms, but for his Aspect more.
High in the Air his polish'd Shield did glow,
As when a Wood burns on a Mountains brow.
Colossus like he on the Ruins stood
Verst in Destruction, and inur'd to Blood.
The haughty Chief resolv'd to guard the Breach,
And as the King advanc'd within the reach
Of his long Spear, the vast Helvetian threw,
Hoping to pierce th' invading Briton thro';
But o'er his Head the pond'rous Weapon flew.
Then at the hideous Allobrog, the King
Did with his usual Force and Fury fling
His Glitt'ring Javelin, whose impetuous Stroke
The Warriour's Shin-bone all in Splinters broke.
The Pagan fell, and did in Torment roar,
Curst all his Gods, but Curst King Arthur more.
He on the Breach did his vast Limbs extend,
And with his Bulk did still the Town defend.
Arthur came up, and with a single Blow
Struck off his Head, and then amidst the Foe
The ghastly heap with Indignation threw,
Which gnash'd its Teeth, and Curs'd ev'n as it flew.

   Soon as th' Helvetian Champion fell, the rest
Forsook the Breach with pannic Fear possest.
The Conquering Briton march'd undaunted down,
And wav'd his flaming Sword within the Town.
The British Youth the King's Command obey'd,
Onward they came Lutetia to invade,
And o'er the Breach their Ensigns they convey'd.
Here did the Franks a stout Resistance make,
And boldly Charg'd the Foe, to beat them back.
Long did their Troops a bloody Fight maintain,
And many Chiefs were wounded, many slain.
While on the Foe the Pious Briton prest,
He struck his Javelin thro' Palmida 's Breast.
Next at his feet lay great Olcarden slain,
Thro' his right Eye the Weapon pierc'd his Brain.
Then Gyon, Bomont , and brave Harlam dy'd
By Arthur 's Arms, and many Chiefs beside.
Broad Caliburno mighty Slaughter made,
And high in heaps the Gallic Cohorts laid.
Limbs, sever'd Heads, dismember'd Trunks around
With Helms and Bucklers mixt, o'erspread the ground.
As when a loud Autumnal Tempest moves
Th' inclining Pines, and shakes the Golden Groves,
The Leaves and Fruit from bending boughs fall down
In yellow Showers, and all the mountains Crown.
So thick a long the Streets the Pagans lay,
Where the destroying Briton made his way.

   Mean time King Clotar his Battalions brought,
From distant Parts where he before had fought.
Urg'd with resistless Fate, and wild with Rage,
He wav'd his Fauchion eager to engage.
King Arthur seeing Clotar from afar,
Advanc'd with martial Joy to meet the War.
The Franks and Britons did their Ranks divide,
And show'd a vast Concern on either side.
As when two Lyons eager to possess
The howling Empire of the Wilderness
Rush to decisive War on Lybia 's Plains,
They lash their Sides, and shake their Tawny Mains.
Then grin, and roar, and from their raging Eyes
Send out fierce streams of Fire amidst the Skys.
Death and Defyance in their looks appear,
And all the Forest seems to shake with Fear.
With no less deadly Looks, with such a Rage
The mighty Foes for Conquest did engage.

   The Gallic King with Fury onward prest,
And aim'd a mortal stroke at Arthur 's Crest.
His faithful Shield the Fauchion's progress staid,
Which in the Plate a deep Impression made.
The Pious Prince enrag'd, against the Foe
From his strong Arm discharg'd a dreadful Blow.
It beat against his head his spacious Shield,
His Eyes grew dim, and back the Monarch reel'd.
But he recovering soon his Feet and Sight,
Return'd with Fury to renew the Fight.
The War was terrible, and either Foe
Did mighty skill in Arms and Courage show.
Lutetia 's Towers did with the Strokes resound
And the pale Cohorts trembling stood around.
So when two Eagles on the Airy Brow
Of some high Rock, their Strength and Courage show
In single Fight, the Feather'd Foes employ
Beaks, Pounces, Wings each other to destroy.
Woods, Valleys, Mountains, Shores, and ecchoing Rocks
Ring with the War, and feel the furious strokes.

   The Frank observing that his Arm did weild
His Sword in vain against King Arthur 's Shield.
Retreating, to the ground did downward stoop,
And heav'd a mighty Rocky Fragment up.
Then did the furious Warriour forward step,
And hurl'd with both his hands the pondrous Heap.
The Britons trembled when they saw the Stone
With such a Force against their Monarch thrown.
O'er Arthur 's Shoulder flew the flinting Rock,
But as it past a craggy Corner struck
The Shoulder's point, and his bright Armour bruis'd,
Which in his Flesh a painful Wound produc'd.
His Friends grew pale to see that Shoulder hurt,
Which did their Empire, and their Hopes support.
The Pious Monarch did the Wound neglect,
And for one Mortal Stroke did all his might collect,
Like some Celestial Sword of temper'd Flame,
Down on the Frank keen Caliburno came.
It fell upon his Neck with vengeful Sway,
And thro' the shrinking Muscles made its way,
The Head re-clin'd, on the right Shoulder lay.
Down fell the Frank, disabled by the Wound,
Weltring in Gore, and raging, Bit the Ground.
The Pious Prince did o'er the Warriour stand,
Bright Caliburno flaming in his hand.
And thus the Frank bespoke: Ambitious Prince,
Justice Divine do's now Mankind convince,
That Heav'n, tho' patient, do's not still neglect
To crush Oppressors, and th' Opprest protect.
What Seas of Blood hast thou in pastime shed?
What Rapine has thy Lust of Empire fed?
How hast thou Ravag'd, Ruin'd, Spoil'd, Undone
The Realms of Neighbour Princes, and thy own?
Thy Friends thou hast betray'd, surpriz'd thy Foes,
And broke the Sacred Bonds of solemn Vows.
Europa 's wasted Realms proclaim aloud,
Thy Thirst of Empire, and thy Thirst of Blood.
Long have the Nations round addrest the Skies,
For Bolts and Vengeance, with Confederate Cries;
And Heav'n at last with the just Prayer complies.
This said, the Monarch with a second Blow
Struck off his Head, and spurn'd the Vanquish'd Foe.
The Britons rais'd to Heav'n a joyful Shout,
The Franks, dismay'd with Ignominious Rout,
Began to fly; the King their Squadrons chas'd,
And o'er their slaughter'd Heaps Victorious pass'd.
So when a Shoal of flying Fish have spy'd,
By the Reflection from his glitt'ring Side,
A swift Finn'd Dolphin stricking thro' the Tyde;
They fly with all the speed that deadly fear
Can give, to scape the glorious Ravager:
The noise of clashing Arms, amazing Cries,
And horrid Clamours, rend th' astonish'd Skies.
Anguish, Despair, Distraction, ghastly Fear,
In all their frightful Forms, and Looks appear.
Thro' every Street ran down a Sea of Blood,
Shields, Heads, and Helms lay mingled in the Flood.
The King prest onward with resistless Force,
Nor dar'd they make a Stand to stay his course.
As when to Plant some Island newly found,
Men Fire the Woods to free th' unwholsome Ground.
The lawless Flames born by Impetuous Winds,
Burn down the ancient Oaks, and lofty Pines.
They clear the Region, and enrich the Soil
With heaps of Ashes, and the Forest's spoil.
So did th' invading Monarch make his way,
So thick the Spoils behind the Conqueror lay.

   The Franks at last, seeing Lutetia lost,
That nothing could resist the British Host,
By prudent Clodion 's Counsel made a stand,
Threw down their Arms, and did their Lives demand.
Then Clodion thus the British King bespoke:
We your Compassion, mighty Prince, invoke.
Lutetia 's yours, we your Imperial Sway
Will, as your Subjects, or your Slaves, obey.
Your raging Troops, Victorious King, restrain,
And save the Gallic Youth who yet remain.
Our Wives, our Maids, our Babes for Pity cry,
Your Justice will not let the Guiltless dy.
From the destroying Sword their Lives secure,
And let your Mercy Triumph o'er your Power.

   He said. The King did with Compassion melt,
And in his Breast relenting Mercy felt.
Enough of Blood he cry'd, the Sword forbear,
Th' Oppressor's Slain, let us the Subject spare.
The British Youth the King's Command obey'd,
And Soon the progress of the Sword was stay'd.

   Thus in despight of all th' Efforts that Hell
And Earth could make the Briton to repell,
With wondrous Toyl, and mighty Fortitude,
The valiant King the haughty Frank Subdu'd.

THE INDEX

Next: Arthur in Avalon, by J. Arthur Blaikie [1884]