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 pa**'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 a**ail'd,
His Arms by Heav'n a**isted 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 a**ist, 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 Ma** 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 d**h 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 d**h 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 pa**ing 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' a**ert 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 encompa**'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 d**h 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 ma**y Balls of Bra**, some mighty Tubs
Of Cynders, some great Pots of Sulphur bore,
And some the Stones up from the Pavement tore.
What Instruments of d**h 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 d**h 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 d**h,
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 d**h:
Of d**h 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 d**hs 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 ma**y 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 a**ail'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 d**hs, 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 a**ail
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 a**ail,
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 a**ail'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 a**ail'd,
O'er Oaks, and Stones, and Bars of Bra** 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 pa**age 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 pa**age 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 Bra** 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.
d**h 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 sk** 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 pa**'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 Compa**ion, 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 Compa**ion 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.