Two stanzas more before we end,
Of death, pikes, rocks, arms, bricks, and fire: Leave them behind you, honest friend;
And with your countrymen retire. Your ode is spoilt; Namur is freed;
For Dixmuyd something yet is due:
So good Count Guiscard may proceed;1
But Boufflers, Sir, one word with you—
'Tis done. In sight of these commanders,
Who neither fight, nor raise the siege,
The foes of France march safe through Flanders;
Divide to Bruxelles, or to Liege.
Send, Fame, this news to Trianon,
That Boufflers may new honours gain:
He the same play by land has shown,
As Tourville did upon the main.2
Yet is the marshal made a peer!
O William, may thy arms advance;
That he may lose Dinant next year,
And so be constable of France.
1 Count Guiscard was commander of the town of Namur. Marshal Bouffleurs of the castle there.
2 M. de Tourville was commander of the French squadron which engaged Admiral Russell in 1692, off La Hogue.
PRESENTED TO THE KING,
AT HIS ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF THE CONSPIRACY,1 MDCXCVI.
Serus in cœlum redeas; diuque
Lætus intersis populo Quirini:
Neve te nostris vitiis iniquum
YE careful angels, whom eternal Fate
Ordains, on earth and human acts to wait;
Who turn with secret power this restless ball,
And bid predestin'd empires rise and fall:
Your sacred aid religious monarchs own,
When first they merit, then ascend the throne:
But tyrants dread ye, lest your just decree
Transfer the power, and set the people free.
See rescu'd Britain at your altars bow;
And hear her hymns your happy care avow:
That still her axes and her rods support
The judge's frown, and grace the awful court;
That Law with all her pompous terror stands,
To wrest the dagger from the traitor's hands;
And rigid justice reads the fatal word,
Poises the balance first, then draws the sword.
1 This conspiracy is generally called the Assassination Plot. Sir John Fenwick was executed for being concerned in it.
Britain her safety to your guidance owns, That she can sep'rate parricides from sons;
That, impious rage disarm'd, she lives and reigns,
Her freedom kept by him, who broke her chains.
And thou, great minister, above the rest
Of guardian spirits, be thou for ever blest;
Thou, who of old wert sent to Israel's court,
With secret aid great David's strong support;
To mock the frantic rage of cruel Saul,
And strike the useless javelin to the wall.
Thy later care o'er William's temples held,
On Boyne's propitious banks, the heav'nly shield;
When power divine did sovereign right declare,
And cannons mark'd whom they were bid to spare.
Still, blessed angel, be thy care the same!
Be William's life untouch'd, as is his fame!
Let him own thine, as Britain owns his hand:
Save thou the king, as he has sav'd the land!
We angels' forms in pious monarchs view;
We reverence William; for he acts like you;
Like you, commission'd to chastise and bless,
He must avenge the world, and give it peace.
Indulgent Fate our potent prayer receives; And still Britannia smiles, and William lives. The hero dear to earth, by heav'n belov'd, By troubles must be vex'd, by dangers prov'd: His foes must aid to make his fame complete, And fix his throne secure on their defeat.
So, though with sudden rage the tempest comes; Though the winds roar, and though the water foams,
Imperial Britain on the sea looks down,
And smiling sees her rebel subject frown:
Striking her cliff, the storm confirms her pow'r;
The waves but whiten her triumphant shore:
In vain they would advance, in vain retreat:
Broken they dash, and perish at her feet.
For William still new wonders shall be shown:
The powers that rescued, shall preserve the throne.
Safe on his darling Britain's joyful sea,
Behold, the monarch ploughs his liquid way:
His fleets in thunder through the world declare,
Whose empire they obey, whose arms they bear.
Bless'd by aspiring winds, he finds the strand
Blacken'd with clouds; he sees the nations stand
Blessing his safety, proud of his command.
In various tongues he hears the captains dwell
On their great leader's praise; by turns they tell,
And listen, each with emulous glory fir'd,
How William conquer'd, and how France retir'd;
How Belgia, freed, the hero's arm confess'd,
But trembled for the courage which she bless'd.
O Louis, from this great example know,
To be at once a hero and a foe:
By sounding trumpets, hear, and rattling drums,
When William to the open vengeance comes:
And see the soldier plead the monarch's right,
Heading his troops, and foremost in the fight.
Hence then, close Ambush and perfidious War,
Down to your native seats of Night repair.
And thou, Bellona, weep thy cruel pride
Restrain'd, behind the victor's chariot tied
In brazen knots, and everlasting chains,
(So Europe's peace, so William's fate ordains).
While on the ivory chair, in happy state,
He sits, secure in innocence, and great
In regal clemency; and views beneath
Averted darts of rage, and pointless arms of death.
SEE, whilst thou weep'st, fair Cloe, see
The world in sympathy with thee.
The cheerful birds no longer sing;
Each droops his head, and hangs his wing.
The clouds have bent their bosom lower,
And shed their sorrows in a shower.
The brooks beyond their limits flow;
And louder murmurs speak their woe.
The nymphs and swains adopt thy cares;
They heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears.
Fantastic nymph! that grief should move
Thy heart obdurate against Love.
Strange tears! whose power can soften all,
But that dear breast on which they fall.
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