Here, taught by thee, we view with raptured eyes, Graceful and bold, the Prussian hero rise-- The royal chief, the Cæsar of the age, Whose acts the wonder of the world engage. The martial spirit animates his mien, His heart intrepid, and his look serene. There Fame, regardless else who reigns or bleeds, With all her breath resounds his mighty deeds. Here from whole nations in the field o’erthrown, He points to trophies which are all his own; While Victory gives to valour so renown’d The blooming wreath which her own temples bound. See where his virtues still his life expose, And smile defiance to surrounding foes. The intriguing Saxon see him there[74] surprise; Here from his arms the Imperial Eagle[75] flies; Tho’ fortune frowns,[76] unknowing how to yield, He drives, by proxy,[77] Russia from the field. Now, farther prest, behold him still advance, And pour destruction on the troops[78] of France; Before his glitt’ring arms the Swedes retire, And mourn pale Envy’s unfulfilled desire. Yet lo! once more by frowning fortune crost, He sees a battle, Breslau, Bevern lost: Yet soon, that loss retrieved, the hero gains Immortal glory on Silesian plains. His active spirit still disdains repose, Resolv’d to combat with stern wintry snows; And through the regions of her cold domain, To stretch the triumphs of the long campaign. What praise, ingenious HOLDSHIP, is thy due, Who first on porcelain the fair portrait drew; Who first alone to full perfection brought The curious art, by rival numbers sought. Hence shall thy skill inflame heroic souls, Who mighty battles see round mightier bowls; While Albion’s sons shall see their features, name, And actions copied on the _cup_ of fame. Hence beauty, which repairs the waste of war, Beauty may triumph on a china jar: And this, perhaps, with stronger faith to trust, Than the stain’d canvas or the marble bust. For here, who once in youthful charms appears May bloom uninjured for a thousand years; May time--till now opposed in vain--defie, And live still fair, till Nature’s self shall die. Here may the toasts of every age be seen, From Britain’s Gunning back to Sparta’s Queen: And every hero history’s page can bring From Macedonia’s down to Prussia’s king. Perhaps the art may track the circling world. Where’er thy Britain has her sails unfurl’d; While wond’ring _China_ shall with envy see, And stoop to borrow her own arts from thee. CYNTHIO. _Worcester, 20th Dec., 1757._