Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/379

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 241 �And warbles on the Ground: �Shews the proud Steed, impatient of the Check, 'Gainst the loudest Terrors Proof, �Pawing the Valley with his steeled Hoof, �With Lightning arm'd his Eyes, with Thunder cloth'd �his Neck; Who on th' advanced Foe, (the Signal giv'n) �Flies, like a rushing Storm by mighty Whirlwinds �driv'n ; Lays open the Records of Fame, 80 �No glorious Deed omits, no Man of mighty Name ; Their Stratagems, their Tempers she'll repeat, From Alexander's, (truly stil'd the GREAT) From Caesar's on the World's Imperial Seat, To Turenne's Conduct, and to Conde's Heat. �'Tis done ! and now th' ambitious Youth disdains The safe, but harder Labours of the Gown, The softer pleasures of the Courtly Town, �The once lov'd rural Sports, and Chaces on the Plains; Does with the Soldier's Life the Garb assume, 90 The gold Embroid'ries, and the graceful Plume ; Walks haughty in a Coat of Scarlet Die, A Colour well contrived to cheat the Eye, �Where richer Blood, alas! may undistinguisht lye. And oh ! too near that wretched Fate attends ; Hear it ye Parents, all ye weeping Friends ! Thou fonder Maid! won by those gaudy Charms, (The destin'd Prize of his Victorious Arms) Now fainting Dye upon the mournful Sound, �That speaks his hasty Death, and paints the fatal Wound! 100 �Trail all your Pikes, dispirit every Drum, March in a slow Procession from afar, Ye silent, ye dejected Men of War! ��� �