the actions of heroes in verse, and to sing the deeds which you men of war perform.  I must follow the rules of my art, and the composition of such a strain as this must be harmonious and majestic, not familiar, or too near the vulgar truth.  Si parva licet:  if Virgil could invoke the divine Augustus, a humbler poet from the banks of the Isis may celebrate a victory and a conqueror of our own nation, in whose triumphs every Briton has a share, and whose glory and genius contributes to every citizen’s individual honor.  When hath there been, since our Henrys’ and Edwards’ days, such a great feat of arms as that from which you yourself have brought away marks of distinction?  If ’tis in my power to sing that song worthily, I will do so, and be thankful to my Muse.  If I fail as a poet, as a Briton at least I will show my loyalty, and fling up my cap and huzzah for the conqueror:—­

                      “’Rheni pacator et Istri
     Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit
     Ordinibus; laetatur eques, plauditque senator,
     Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori.’”

“There were as brave men on that field,” says Mr. Esmond (who never could be made to love the Duke of Marlborough, nor to forget those stories which he used to hear in his youth regarding that great chiefs selfishness and treachery)—­“there were men at Blenheim as good as the leader, whom neither knights nor senators applauded, nor voices plebeian or patrician favored, and who lie there forgotten, under the clods.  What poet is there to sing them?”

“To sing the gallant souls of heroes sent to Hades!” says Mr. Addison, with a smile.  “Would you celebrate them all?  If I may venture to question anything in such an admirable work, the catalogue of the ships in Homer hath always appeared to me as somewhat wearisome; what had the poem been, supposing the writer had chronicled the names of captains, lieutenants, rank and file?  One of the greatest of a great man’s qualities is success; ’tis the result of all the others; ’tis a latent power in him which compels the favor of the gods, and subjugates fortune.  Of all his gifts I admire that one in the great Marlborough.  To be brave? every man is brave.  But in being victorious, as he is, I fancy there is something divine.  In presence of the occasion, the great soul of the leader shines out, and the god is confessed.  Death itself respects him, and passes by him to lay others low.  War and carnage flee before him to ravage other parts of the field, as Hector from before the divine Achilles.  You say he hath no pity; no more have the gods, who are above it, and superhuman.  The fainting battle gathers strength at his aspect; and, wherever he rides, victory charges with him.”