Too late the verse the mighty act fucceeds, age the hero, one the poet breeds.
A thousand years in full fucceffion ran,
Ere Virgil rais'd his voice, and sung the man
Who, driven by ftrefs of fate, fuch dangers bore
On ftormy feas, and a disastrous shore,
Before he fettled in the promis'd earth,
And gave the empire of the world its birth.
Troy long had found the Grecians bold and fierce,
Ere Homer mufter'd up their troops in verse;
Long had Achilles quell'd the Trojans' luft,
And laid the labour of the gods in dust,
Before the towering Mufe began her flight,
And drew the hero raging in the fight,
Engag'd in tented fields and rolling floods,
Or flaughtering mortals, or a match for gods.
And here, perhaps, by fate's unerring doom,
Some mighty bard lies hid in years to come,
That shall in William's god-like acts engage,
And with his battles warm a future age;
Hibernian fields shall here thy conquests show,
And Boyne be fung, when it has ceas'd to flow;
Here Gallic labours fhall advance thy fame,
And here Seneffe shall wear another name.
Our late pofterity, with fecret dread,
Shall view thy battles, and with pleasure read
How, in the bloody field too near advanc'd,
The guiltless bullet on thy fhoulder glanc'd.
The race of Nassau was by Heaven design'd
To curb the proud oppreffors of mankind,
To bind the tyrants of the earth with laws,
And fight in every injur'd nation's caufe,
The world's great patriots; they for justice call;
And, as they favour, kingdoms rife or fall.
Our British youth, unus'd to rough alarms,
Careless of fame, and negligent of arms,
Had long forgot to meditate the foe,
And heard unwarm'd the martial trumpet blow;
But now infpir'd by thee, with fresh delight,
Their fwords they brandish, and require the fight,
Renew their ancient conquefts on the main,
And act their fathers' triumphs o'er again;
Fir'd, when they hear how Agincourt was ftrow'd
With Gallic corps, and Creffi swam in blood,
With eager warmth they fight, ambitious all
Who firft fhall ftorm the breach, or mount the wall.
In vain the thronging enemy by force
Would clear the ramparts, and repel their course;
They break through all, for William leads the way,
Where fires rage moft, and loudeft engines play.
Namur's late terrors and deftruction show,
What William, warm'd with just revenge, can do:
Where once a thousand turrets rais'd on high
Their gilded spires, and glitter'd in the sky,
An undistinguish'd heap of duft is found,
And all the pile lies fmoking on the ground.
His toils, for no ignoble ends defign'd,
Promote the common welfare of mankind;
No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears,
The cries of orphans, and the widow's tears:
Oppreft Religion gives the first alarms,
And injur'd Justice sets him in his arms;
His conquefts freedom to the world afford,
And nations bless the labours of his fword.
Thus when the forming Mufe would copy forth
A perfect pattern of heroic worth,
She fets a man triumphant in the field,
O'er giants cloven down, and monsters kill'd,
Reeking in blood, and smear'd with duft and sweat,
Whilft angry gods conspire to make him great.
Thy navy rides on feas before unpreft,
And strikes a terror through the haughty East:
Algiers and Tunis from their fultry shore
With horror hear the British engines roar;
Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run,
And wish themselves ftill nearer to the fun.
The Gallic fhips are in their ports confin'd,
Deny'd the common use of sea and wind,
Nor dare again the British ftrength engage;
Still they remember that destructive rage
Which lately made their trembling host retire,
Stunn'd with the noise, and wrapt in smoke and fire;
The waves with wide unnumber'd wrecks were strow'd,
And planks, and arms, and men, promifcuous flow'd.
Spain's numerous fleet, that perifh'd on our coast, Could scarce a longer line of battle boast;
The winds could hardly drive them to their fate,
And all the ocean labour'd with the weight.
Where-e'er the waves in restlefs errors roll,
The fea lies open now to either pole:
Now may we fafely use the northern gales,
And in the polar circle spread our fails :
Or, deep in fouthern climes, fecure from wars,
New lands explore, and fail by other ftars:
Fetch uncontrol'd each labour of the sun,
And make the product of the world our own.
At length, proud prince, ambitious Lewis, cease
To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace ;
Think on the ftructures which thy pride has ras'd,
On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste;
Think on the heaps of corps and streams of blood,
On every guilty plain and purple flood,
Thy arms have made; and cease an impious war,
Nor waste the lives intrusted to thy care.
Or, if no milder thought can calm thy mind,
Behold the great avenger of mankind,
See mighty Naffau through the battle ride,
And see thy subjects gasping by his fide :
Fain would the pious prince refuse th' alarm,
Fain would he check the fury of his arm;
But, when thy cruelties his thoughts engage,
The hero kindles with becoming rage,
Then countries ftol'n, and captives unreftor'd,
Give strength to every blow, and edge his fword.
Behold with what refiftlefs force he falls
On towns befieg'd, and thunders at thy walls!
Afk Villeroy, (for Villeroy beheld
The town furrender'd, and the treaty feal'd)
With what amazing strength the forts were won,
Whilst the whole power of France stood looking on.
But ftop not here: behold where Berkeley ftands,
And executes his injur'd King's commands;
Around thy coaft his bursting bombs he pours
On flaming citadels and falling towers;
With hiffing ftreams of fire the air they streak,
And hurl deftruction round them where they break,
The skies with long ascending flames are bright,
And all the fea reflects a quivering light.
Thus Etna, when in fierce eruptions broke,
Fills heaven with ashes, and the earth with smoke :
Here crags of broken rocks are twirl'd on high,
Here molten stones and scatter'd cinders fly :
Its fury reaches the remotest coast,
And ftrows the Afiatic fhore with duft.
Now does the failor from the neighbouring main Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain ;
No more his wonted marks he can descry,
But fees a long unmeasur'd ruin lie;
Whilft, pointing to the naked coast, he shows
His wondering mates where towns and steeples rofe,
Where crowded citizens he lately view'd,
And fingles out the place where once St. Maloes flood.
Here Ruffel's actions should my Muse require;
And, would my ftrength but second my defire,
I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse,
And draw his cannons thundering in my verse;
High on the deck should the great leader stand,
Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand;
Like Homer's Hector when he flung his fire
Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire.
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