Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Joseph Addison (1672–1719)

Extract from The Campaign: Marlborough at Blenheim

BEHOLD, in awful march and dread array

The long extended squadrons shape their way!

Death, in approaching terrible, imparts

An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;

Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,

And thirst of glory quells the love of life.

No vulgar fears can British minds control:

Heat of revenge, and noble pride of soul,

O’erlook the foe, advantag’d by his post,

Lessen his numbers, and contract his host:

Though fens and floods possess’d the middle space,

That unprovok’d they would have fear’d to pass,

Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia’s bands,

When her proud foe rang’d on their borders stands.

But O, my muse, what numbers wilt thou find

To sing the furious troops in battle join’d!

Methinks I hear the drum’s tumultuous sound,

The victor’s shouts and dying groans confound,

The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,

And all the thunder of the battle rise.

’Twas then great Marlbro’s mighty soul was prov’d,

That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov’d,

Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,

Examin’d all the dreadful scenes of war;

In peaceful thought the field of death survey’d,

To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,

Inspir’d repuls’d battalions to engage,

And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.

So when an angel by divine command

With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,

Such as of late o’er pale Britannia past,

Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;

And pleas’d th’ Almighty’s orders to perform,

Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.