Camillus: a poem: humbly inscrib'd to the Right Honourable Charles Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth. By Aaron Hill, gent.

CAMILLUS: A POEM Humbly Inſcrib'd to the Right Honourable CHARLES Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth. WHEN Injur'd Heroes ſuffer in their Fame, Juſtice, unſummon'd, ſhou'd their Wrongs proclaim; Apollo's Sons ſhou'd raiſe Reſentment high'r, And flame in Raptures of Poetick Fire; Since where Injuſtice clouds a Noble Name, The Poet ſuffers in the Patron's Shame. Permit, Great Sir, my humble Muſe to raiſe A grateful Monument to Crown your Praiſe; Unbend your mighty Soul, and ſtoop to Fame, Whoſe Voice ſhall ſound to Heav'n your glorious Name. Minds that are Great like Y • urs, diſdain Applauſe, Their inborn Vertue gives their Reaſon Laws, Above the reach of Malice, bleſs'd they live, Prou'd to be enay'd, and like Heav'n forgive. Where ſhall my lab'ring Fancy Numbers find, To ſing the ſhining Glories of thy Mind? Or thro' the lab'rynth of thy Wonders wind? How dares my artleſs Pen attempt a Verſe, Worthy thy God-like Actions to reherſe? How dares my Muſe to Songs of Valour preſs, Which all alike admire, but none can well expreſs! About my Breaſt tumult'ous Terrors rowl, And riſing Paſſions ſhake my ſickly Soul, Reaſons un-number'd through my Judgment ſhine, Some urge, and ſome forbid the vaſt Deſign, Here Juſtice ſummons, There my Youth denies, Duty to This, to That my Will replys, Reſolv'd, at laſt, your ſafe Return to greet, I throw my worthleſs Numbers at your Feet, Aſſur'd, the gen'rous Goodneſs of your Eye, Will ſee my Will, and paſs my Errors by. But if my feeble Genius chance to fail, Nor ardent Pray'rs can with the Nine prevail, Think, Sir, how various your Great Acts appear, There War and Glory, Wit and Honour Here; One Glitt'ring Moment ſpreads your wond'rous Fame, Battles and Bloodſhed celebrate your Name; Now the great Hero, in a Purple Flood, Plunges thro' ſtormy Seas of hoſtile Blood; Then Strides with skilful Courage from afar, To ſtop the Gap of unſucceſsful W A R: Another Moment ſmoothly Guilds his Face With Female Sweetneſs, and a Lovely Grace; Calmly he Tunes his Mind to ſoſter Sports, And lives the Matchleſs Parragon of Courts, No wonder then, if my preſumptuous Eye, Viewing thy Sun of Excellence too nigh, Dazled with Light, is forc'd to look awry. Thus, when ſome Traveller who wants a Guide, O'er an extended Plain attempts to ride, Where Num'rous Paths of Equal breadth appear, Till he no longer knows which Courſe to Steer, If, chuſing wrong at laſt, he goes aſtray, What Man wou'd blame him that he loſt his way? In Peace, the fam'd HISPANIA long had ſlept, And full Poſſeſſion of her Indies kept; Burthen'd with Plenty, idle Bliſs they knew, Till with their Swords, their Natures ruſty grew: But now, againſt their Wills, they climb to Fate, And hoſtile Heroes force 'em to be Great, When their late Monarch had reſign'd his Breath, And ſwift-wing'd Fame, proclaim'd his mighty Death, The Trumpets Clangors eccho'd from afar, And Friendly Nations roſe to ſudden War; The hardy Veterans their Arms prepare, And waving Banners fan the Warlike Air; The ſprightly Steeds with lofty Bounds advance, And curb'd by skillful Riders, proudly prance; A wild Confuſion o'er the Globe is hurl'd, And dreadful Earthquakes ſhake the Chriſtian World; The AUSTRIAN Prince, Heir by a juſt Deſcent, To gain his Right, his ſtrong Endeavours bent: BOURBON oppos'd, and in the vacant Throne Wou'd place a Royal Offspring of his own; The firſt had Right, but Pow'r, which all obey, Appear'd, to juſtifie the Second's Sway; The Arms of France his falſe Pretence maintain, And mount their ANJOU to the Crown of Spain. With helpleſs ſighs the Injur'd AUSTRIAN ſtands, And lifts to gracious Heav'n his Eyes and Hands; He begs his Juſtice to a much-wrong'd Man, And Heav'n directs his Pray'rs to matchleſs ANNE. Thither they fly whom pow'rful Wrongs oppreſs, And find a certain Shelter from Diſtreſs: By her the proud Uſurper daily bleeds, And Gazing Monarchs Wonder at her Deeds; In deep Surprize and Silence, fix'd they ſtand, And ſee the Fate of Europe in her Hand. Thither, with tow'ring Hopes, and longing Eyes, The Young Excluded Monarch ſwiftly flies, Whiſpers in ANNA's Ears his weighty Grief, And from her Pitty'ng Soul extracts Relief. At her Command the ready Britains fly, Exert their inborn Worth and proudly die; Pleas'd with their Fate, they gladly ſell their Breath, And ſmile amidſt the raging Pangs of Death. A Choſen Band of Men, who all things dare, For diſtant War their mighty Souls prepare; Through ev'ry Ear their Glorious Cauſe they Ring, To Curb proud France, and Right an injur'd King. O'er theſe a Earl of Peterborough. Chief, by Art and Nature grac'd, Renown'd in War and Policy, was plac'd; Beyond the reſt his Judgment cou'd diſcern, And cou'd with eaſe improve, what others cou'd not learn. He ow'd not Virtue to the fear of Shame, Nor practis'd Honeſty in Hopes of Fame. In him a ſpotleſs Honour firmly ſtood, Bath'd in the Gen'rous Streams of Noble Blood. Him the Great ANNA choſe—CAMILLUS go, Revenge my Brother on his haughty Foe, Guard him through Dangers, give the Prince his own, And ſafely lift him to the Spaniſh Throne. The Valiant Chief, without Ambition Brave, Humbly Receiv'd the Weighty Charge She gave; Deſtin'd in ſpite of Malice to be Great, He Arms his daring Soul to Combate Fate. And now the Britiſh Gen'rals gladly meet, And lead their Army to the waiting Fleet: With ſwelling Hopes embark, and Joy to find The brisk Aſſiſtance of a willing Wind. In loud Salutes the deep-mouth'd Cannons Roar, Anſwer'd by zealous Wiſhes from the Shore, Whence mingled Crowds their hearty Pray'rs repeat, Till riſing Waves Obſcure the ſailing Fleet. On the extremeſt Limits of that Land, Through which the Tagus, rich in Golden Sand, His Rapid Courſe in depth of Waters bends, And twice two hundred Miles his Stream extends, Old BARCELONA, ſtrong by Nature ſtands, And Rules a vaſt Extent of fertile Lands. With Rocky Mountains half environ'd round, The other half, by Bogs and Marſhy Ground; Beneath her Walls ſurrounding Trenches lie, Above their Banks riſe Bulworks vaſtly high; Walls within Walls the ſolid Place defend, And watchful Centinels their Charge attend: • ngines of hollow Braſs, with fiery Breath, Vomit black ſulph'rous Meſſages of Death; Charg'd with Deſtruction, ſpeak with horrid Roar, And ſcatter Terrors round the Neigh'bring Shore. Hither with crowded Sails the Britains bent, Big with the Meſſage their Great Miſtreſs ſent; Their War-like Souls to Emulation riſe, And breath out pious Wiſhes to the Skies. And now thoſe Pow'rs which brave Deſigns attend, Had brought their Voyage to an happy End. From Barcelona's Tow'rs, with wild Affright, The trembling Foe beholds th' unwelcome Sight; A mighty Fleet approaching by degrees, In graceful Order Ploughs the ſmiling Seas; Harmonious Muſick ſpreads the Joy they bring, And Clam'rous Shouts proclaim the coming King: The ſounding Trumpets his Intent declare, And waving Streamers flouriſh in the Air. Arriv'd at length, the Cannons loudly roar, And ſhake with panick Fright the wond'ring Shore. Mean while the Spaniards all their Force prepare, And Arm confus'dly for defenſive War; Blind with Amuſement, and ignoble Fear, They double all the BRITAINS that appear; All think with Horror, England now had bent Her utmoſt Force to form one Grand Deſcent. But when they ſaw ſo ſmall a Number Land— And boldly tread the Surface of their Sand, The paler Marks of Fear forſook their Face, And Wonder, far more Great, ſupplies the Place. An equal Force within their Walls they found, Yet fear'd to meet their Foes on equal Ground; They ſaw, with Wonder at an Act ſo vain, Th' undaunted Britains win the Neighb'ring Plain, Where ſoon their Squadrons form'd a Camp, and then They thought, or dreaded they were more than Men. Thus had the great CAMILLUS forc'd his Way, And void of Fear, in midſt of Dangers lay. Impatient of Delays the Auſtrian Youth, Deep touch'd with Sorrow, liſten'd to the Truth; He ſaw the Weakneſs of his daring Few, And with Concern his Foes Advantage knew. The Brazen Tubes of Death were mounted high, And Clouds of rowling Smoak obſcur'd the Sky: All this and more, from his ſmall Camp was ſeen, And Death, diſguis'd with Horror, ſtalk'd between. The Aged Chiefs, in cautious War grown old, Wou'd rather be too backward than too bold; Therefore advis'd the Prince to haſte away, Since 'twas ſcarce poſſible to live and ſtay. The Prince, with melancholy Thoughts oppreſt, Came to CAMILLUS and unlock'd his Breaſt, 〈…〉 the Pangs of Sorrow, Shame and Rage, 〈…〉 ſhook the blooming Comforts of his Age: Told him the Flames in which his Soul wou'd burn, Shou'd he thus unſucceſsfully Return. With Grief the gen'rous Britain heard him tell The deep Misfortunes he but knew too well. He rowls his Eyes, accuſes Partial Fate, And tells the Auſtrian, that he ſhou'd be Great. Reſolv'd to act, the Council ſpeak in vain, And, by Debates, protract the Fall of Spain; CAMILLUS had a Soul, whoſe Heav'nly Fire Cou'd compaſs all Things, and to all aſpire. Himſelf alone cou'd with himſelf Debate, And mov'd obſcurely, like the Hand of Fate. Hard by the Tow'rs of Barcelona ſtands, High on the Rocks o'erlooking Neighb'ring Lands, A ſtrong-built Caſtle, whoſe extended Sway Obliges ev'n the City to Obey. Five Hundred Men the ſolid Ramparts keep On Rocks beyond Imagination ſteep; Whence rowling Stones invading Foes can Chace, When with an aking Eye they climb the dreadful Place. This was the Source whence Victories muſt flow, Hither the Britiſh Chief reſolv'd to go; Unus'd to Fear, and more unus'd to boaſt, With temp'rate Words he chear'd his wond'ring Hoſt; Strove not to hide the Hazard of the Task, Nor cover Danger with a guilded Mask: He tells each Soldier what he muſt perform, And by Example wins 'em to the Storm. The Roſy Morning uſher'd in the Sun, Which was to ſee a bloody Buſineſs done; His Beams ſhon bright to guide the Battle well, And drank their Blood in Pitty as it fell. Eight Hundred Britains on this glorious Day, O'er Pathleſs Forreſts force their oblique Way: In tedious March o'er high Aſſents they paſt, And won the dang'rous Precipice at laſt. With ſtrange Surprize the Foe begins to Arm, And Bells rung backward in a loud alarm: The ſummon'd Soldiers haſten to their Poſt, And pour whole Vollies on the climbing Hoſt: New Forms of Death huge falling Stones create, And cruſh invading Numbers with their Weight. Repeated Charges from the Cannons fly, Like fiery Meteors blazing thro' the Sky. The ſhatter'd Limbs of Men, who bravely dare, Are born on Bullets thro' the flaming Air, Adding new Motion to disjointed Parts; The diſmal Proſpect ſhocks the braveſt Hearts. The brave CAMILLUS, with a fierce Delight, Guides on the head-long Fury of the Fight; Prompting his bleeding Troops to venture higher, And ſcatter Death for Death, and Fire for Fire. 〈…〉 when of old, the mighty Giants ſtrove 〈◊〉 check the boundleſs Pow'r of angry Jove; With Force like this, but in a Cauſe leſs good, The huge Briareus, bath'd in Streams of Blood, Stands on the Globe, attempts to conquer Fate, And ſhakes the ſolid Center with his Weight; Kicks at the Thunder which with Horror flies, And while ſwift Lightning flaſhes in his Eyes, Tears up a hundred Rocks, and throws 'em at the Skies. But now aloft the mingled War grows high, On heaps promiſcuous Numbers fall and Die; Rivers of Blood from the mix'd Battle flows, Till Death ſcarce ſees to Guide her deſtin'd Blows. The Walls are won, the Spaniards loſe the Day, And Valiant Britains win the Cover'd Way: Soldiers below, by mutual Help aſcend, While thoſe above the Conquer'd Paſs Defend. No more the driven Foes their Fortune try, But quit their bloody Battlements and fly: Deſpair and Horror fill the Diſmal Place, And Terror ſits Enthron'd on ev'ry Face; Deſtructive Fate grows Cruel to Exceſs, And rages blindly in her blackeſt Dreſs. Matrons and Virgins Weep with bitter Cries, And Noiſy Sorrows pierce the diſtant Skies. But ceaſe, miſtaken Wretches, ceaſe your Moan, And on your bended Knees your Follies own; Tho' haughty Gauls will ſtill Tyrannick be, CAMILLUS Conquers but to ſet you Free. His Gen'rous Soul no baſe Intention knows, But Pitties ev'n the Blackeſt of his Foes. This ſwift Succeſs confounds the wondring King, And all the Hoſt their Gen'ral's Praiſes ſing. But he with wonted Care proceeds to End The vaſt Deſign, ſuch early Joys attend; VVith rich Rewards he chears his Men again, And leads them down with Courage to the Plain, There plants divided Troops on diſtant Ground, To force a City they not half ſurround. Thus moves he brightly like ſome wand'ring Star, And ſcorns the heavy Arts of Common VVar; His Actions by their Merits brightly blaze, He needs no Council, and he ſeeks no Praiſe. VVhile other Gen'rals tedious Projects Form, He Thinks, and Acts, and VVins Applauſe by Storm; With furious Courage ſtands and Tempts his Fate, But Heav'n ſtill ſpares the MAN to Bleſs the STATE. With Threat'ning Look each ready Britain ſtands, And ſharp-edg'd VVeapons grace their VVar-like Hands, Obſequious Silence waits the Gen'ral's Nod, As Ancient Grecians watch'd the Delphian God. Mean while each trembling Tow'r with horrid Dread, Looſen'd its Walls, and ſhook its batter'd Head, The lofty VVorks, which ſhou'd the Town defend, The ſhocks of hoſtile Thunder widely rend; Amidſt theſe Crowds of Terrors and Deſpair, The Britains for a ſharp Aſſault prepare; The Spaniards ſee and ſhun their low'ring Fates, And widely open their ſubmiſſive Gates. And now the mighty Deed is greatly done, A King reliev'd and Kingdoms bravely won; The Warlike Chief, with Glory fir'd his Breaſt, Forgot his Pleaſures, and forſook his Reſt; The Auſtrian fix'd he boldly onward bent, And Conquer'd Rebel Countries as he went. The ſtubborn Catalans, unus'd to bow, Gladly ſubmit to firm Subjection now; With joyful Shouts their happy Monarch greet, And leave their Mountains for the Regal Seat; That ſtrong-built Fort, whoſe State the reſt excell'd, And thrice Ten Thouſand Gallick Foes repell'd, Afraid to ſtrive, her Iron Gates unlock'd, And calmly open'd when CAMILLUS knock'd: To his Succeſsful Arms whole Nations yield, And freely give him up an untry'd Field; At his bleſs'd Feet the Rich Tortoſa lay, And Matchleſs Conduct gain'd him Lerida; Valencia's Kingdom Gloriouſly he won, And triumph'd o'er the proſtrate Arragon. But hold, unwary Muſe, no higher ſoar, He that did this, alas! muſt do no more: Oh! that thy Numbers cou'd but reach my Aim, How wou'd I celebrate his Glorious Name! How wou'd I Paint the Battles he has won, And all the Noble Actions he has done! How wou'd I Paint him ſpilling Gen'rous Blood, And tempting Death for his dear Country's good! How wou'd I draw his two illuſtrious Sons, Proud of their mangled Fleſh and ſhatter'd Bones! How wou'd I tune my elevated Song, To Shame thoſe Men who do CAMILLUS wrong! But ſince his VVorks thro' Clouds are forc'd to Shine, How can I hope Succeſs for ſuch as mine! Let Vertue be Rewarded if it can, VVhen Gratitude forgets ſo Great a MAN. FINIS.