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la flame & le fer en main:
What godhead does so fast advance, Et sur les monceaux de piques,
With dreadful power, those hills to gain? De corps morts, de rocs, de briques,
'Tis little Will, the scourge of France; S'ouvrir un large cheinin.
No godhead, but the first of men.
His mortal arm exerts the power
To keep c'en Mons's victor under:
And tisat same Jupiter no inore
Shall fright the world with impious thunder.
Our king thus trembles at Namur; Ficis ennemis de la France,
Whilst Villeroy, who ne'er afraid is, Et desormais gracieux,
To Bruxelles marches on secure, Allez à Liege, à Bruxelles,
To bomb the monks, and scare the ladies. Porter les humbles nouvelles
After this glorious expedition, De Namur pris à vos yeux.
One battle makes the marshal great: He must perform tire king's commission:
Who knows but Orange may retreat?
Kings are allow'd to feign the gout,
Or be prevail'd with not to fight:
And mighty Louis hop'd, no doubt, ON TUE TAKING OF NAMUR BY THE KING OF GREAT
That William would preserve that right BRITAIN, 1695.
From Seine and Loire, to Rhone and Po, Dulee est desipere in loco.
See every mother's son appear:
In such a case ne'er hlame a foe, Some folks are drunk, yet do not know it:
If he betrays soine little fear. So might not Bacchus give you law?
He comes, the mighty Villeroy comes ; Was it a Muse, O lofty poet,
Finds a small river in his way; Or virgin of St. Cyr, you saw ?
So waves his colours, beats liis drams, Why all this fury? what's the matter,
And thinks it prudent there to stay. That oaks must come from Thrace to dance ? The Gallic troops breathe blood and war; Must stupid stocks be taught to flatter?
The marshal cares pot to march faster : And is there no such wood in France?
Poor Villeroy moves so slowly here, Why must the winds all hold their tongue?
We fancied all, it was his master. If they a little breath should raise,
Will no kind food, no friendly rain, Would that have spuild the poet's song,
Disguise the marshal's plain disgrace? Or puff d away the monarch's praise ?
No torrents swell the low Mehayne ? Pindar, that cagle, mounts the skies,
The world will say, he durst not
pass. While Virtue leads the noble way:
Why will no Hyarles appar, Too like a vulture Boileau Ries,
Dear poet, on the banks of Sambre; Where sordid Interest shows the prey.
Just as they did that mighty year, When once the poet's honour ceases,
When you turn'd June into December? From reason far his transports rove:
The water-nymphs are too unkind And Boileau, for eight hundred pieces,
To Villeroy; are the land-nymphs so? Makes Louis take the wall of Jove.
And Aly they all, at once combin'd
To shame a general, and a beau?
Truth, Justice, Sense, Religion, Pame,
May join to finish William's story:
Nations set free may bless his name;
And France in secret own his glory.
But Ypres, Mastricht, and Cambray,
Besan on, Ghent, St. Omers, Lisle,
Courtray, and Dole-Ye critics, say,
How poor to this was Pindlar's style?
With ekes and alsos tack thy strain,
Great bardd! and sing the deathless prince,
Who lost Namur the same campaign Remember this, and arm the Seine.
He bought Dixinuyd, and plunder'd Deynse. Pull fifteen thousand lusty fellows,
I'll hold ten pound my dream is out: With fire and sword, the fort maintain :
I'd tell it you, but for the rattle Each was a Hercules, you tell us ;
Of those confounded drums; no doubt Yet out they march’d, like coinmon men.
Yon bloody roçues intend a battle. Cannons above, and inines below,
Dear me! a hundred thousand French Did death and touybs for foes contrive:
With terrour fill the neighbouring Geld: Yet matters have been orderd so,
While William carries on the trench, That most of us are still alive.
Till both the town and castle yield. If Namur be compard to Troy;
Villeroy to Boufflers shold advan", Then Britain's boys excell'd the Greeks :
Says Mars, through annons' mouths in fire, Their siege did ten long years e.nplay ;
Il est, one mareschal of Frace We've dous our busjuess in ten weclis,
Tells t'other, he can come no nigher.
L VOL X.
Regain the lines the shortest way,
My softest verse, my darling lyre, Villeroy; or to Versailles take post ; .
(pon Euphelia's toilet lay; For, having seen it, thou canst say
When Cloe noted her desire,
That I should sing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs; And bid the Devil take the slowest.
And, whilst I sing Cuphelia's praise, Think not what reason to produce,
I fix my soul on Clue's eyes. From Louis to conceal thy fear :
Fair Cloe blush'd: Euphelia frowy'd : He'll own the strength of thy excuse;
I sung, and gaz'd: I play'd, and trembled : Tell him that William was but there.
And Veuus to the Lores around
Remark’d, how ill we all disscmbled.
Wanting that influence, great in war.
PRESENTED TO THE KING,
AT HIS ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, AFTER THE DISCOVERY To aniniate the doubtful fight,
OF THE CONSPIRACY, 1696. Namur in vain expects that ray:
Serus in cælum redeas ; diúque In rain France hopes, the sickly light
Lætus intersis populo Quirini; Should shine near William's fuller day:
Néve te nostris vitiis iniquum It knows Versailles, its proper station;
Ocyor aura Nor cares for any foreig i sphere:
Hor. ad Augustus Where you see Boileau's constellation, Be sure no danger can be near.
Ye careful angels, whom eternal Fate The French had gather'd all their force;
Ordains, on Earth and human acts to wait; And William met them in their way:
Who turn with secret power this restless ball, Yet off they brush'd, both foot and horse.
And bid predestin'd empires rise and fall: What ha friend Boileau left to say?
Your sacred aid religious monarchs own, When bis high Muse is bent upon't,
When first they merit, then ascend the throne! To sing her king--that great commander, But tyrants dread you, lest your just decree Or on the shores of Hellespont,
'Transfer the power, and set the people free. Or in the valleys near Scamander;
See rescued Britain at your altars bow; Would it not spoil his noble task,
And hear her hymns your happy care arow : If any foolish Phrygian there is,
That still her axes and her rods support Impertinent enough to ask,
The judge's frown, and grace the awful court;How far Namur may be from Paris?
That Law with all her pompous terrour stands, Two stanzas more before we end,
To wrest the dagger from the traitour's hands; Of death, pikes, rocks, arins, bricks, and fire: And rigid Justice reads the fatal word, Leave them behind you, honest friend ;
Poises the balance first, then draws the sword. And with your countrymen retire.
Britain her safety to your guidance owns, Your ode is spoilt: Namur is freed;
That she can separate parricides from sons ; For Dixmuyd something yet is due:
That, impious rage disarm’d, she lives and reigns, So good count Guiscard may proceed;
Her freedom kept by him, who broke her chains.. But Boutllers, sir, one word with you.
And thou, great minister, above the rest 'Tis done. In sight of these commanders,
Of guardian spirits, be thou for ever blest;
Thou who of old wast sent to Israel's court, Who neither fight, nor raise the siege,
With secret aid, great David's strong support, The foes of France march safe through Flanders;
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 heavenly shield, As Tourville did upon the main.
When power divine did sovereign right declare;
And cannons mark'd whom they were bid to spare. Yet is the marshal made a peer: O William, may thy arms advance!
Still, blessed angel, be thy care the same!
Be William's life untouch'd as is his fame! That he may lose Dinant next year,
Let him own thine, as Britain owns his hand : And so be constable of France.
Save thou the king, as he has say'd the land!
We angels' formis in pious monarchs view;
We reverence William; for he acts like you; AN ODE.
Like you, commission'd to chastise and bless,
He must avenge the world, and give it peace. The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Indulgent Fate our potent prayer receives; Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
And still Britannia siniles, and William lives. Euphelia serves to grace my mcasure;
The hero dear to Earth, by Heaven belor'd, But Cloe is my real Name
By troubles must be vex'd, by dangers prov'd:
His foes must aid, to make his fame complete, And is it enough for the joys of the day,
To think what Anacreon or Sappho would say
TO CLOE ITEEPING.
T'hey heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears.
But that dear breast on which they fall.
TO MR. HOW’ARD.
Hence then, close Ambush and perfidious War,
Dear Howard, from the soft assaults of Love,
Poets and painters never aie secure; In brazen knots and everlasting chains,
Can I untouch'd the fair-ones passions move, (So Europe's peace, so William's fate ordains)
Or thou draw Beauty, and not feel its power ? While on the ivory chair, in happy state, To great Apolles when young Ammon brought He sits, secure in innocence, and great
The darling idol of his captive heart; In regal clemency; and views beneath
And the pleas'd nymph with kind attention sat, Averted darts of Rage, and pointless arms of Death. To have her charms recorded by his art :
The amorous master oan'd her potent eyes;
Sigh'd when he look'd, and trembled as he drew;
Each flowing line confirin'd his fi.st suip ise,
And, as the piece advanc'd, the passion grew,
While Philip's son, while Venus' son, was near, While with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix, Great was the rival, and the god severe :
What different tortures does his bosom feel! And in one day atone for the business of six, In a little Dutch chaise on a Saturday night,
Nor could he hide his flame, nor durst reveal, On my left-hand my Horace, a nymph on my | The prince, renown'd in bounty as in arins, right:
With pity saw the ill conceal'd distress; No memoirs to compose, and no post-boy to move, Quitted his title to Campaspe's charms, That on Sunday may binder the softness of lore;
And gave the fair-one to the friend's i mbrace. For her, neither visits, nor parties at tea, Nor the long-winded cant of a dull refugee.
Thus the more beauteous Cloe sat to thee, This night and the next shall be hers, shall be Good Howard, emulous of the Grecian art: To good or ill-fortune the third we resign: (mine, But happy thou, from Cupid's arrow free, Thus scorning the world and superior to fate, And fames that pierc'd thy predecessor's heart! I drive on my car in processional state.
Had thy poor breast receiv'd an equal pain; So with Phia through Athens Pisistratus rode;
Had I been vested with the monarch's power; Men thought her Minerva, and him a new god.
Thou must have sigh’d, unlucky youth, in vain ; But why should I stories of Athens rehearse,
Nor from my bounty hadst thou found a cure. Where people knew love, and were partial to verse; Since none can with justice my pleasures oppose,
Though, to convince thee that the friend did feel In Holland half drowned in interest and prose? A kind concern for thy ill-fated care, By Greece and past ages what need I be tried, I would have sooth'd the fame I could not h-al; When the Hague and the present are both on my Given thee the world; though I withheld the But in this nymph, my friend, my sister knout LOVE DISARMED.
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow: Benestu a myrtle's verdant shade
Fair Thames she haunts, and ever neighbouring
(grove, As Cloe half asleep was laid,
Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed spear Cupid perch'd lightly on her breast,
At the rough boar, or chase the flying deer: And in that Heaven desir'd to rest:
I and my Cloe take a nobler aim: Over her paps his wings he spread ;
At human hearts we fing, nor erer miss the game."
Still lay the god : the nymph, surpris'd,
CUPID AND GANYMEDE.
IN IIeaven, one holiday, you read
In wise: Anacreon, Ganymele The silken bond, and held him fast.
Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw The god awak'd; and thrice in vain
A main, to pass an hour, or so. He strove to break the cruel chain;
The little Trojan by the way, And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
By Hermes taught, play'd all the play, Encumber'd in the silken string.
The god unhappily engag'd, Fluttering the god, and weeping, said,
By nature rash, by play enrag'd, “Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Complain'd, and sigh'd, and cried and fretted: Who happen'd, being blind, to stray,
Lost every carthly thing he betted: And on thy bosom lost his way;
In really money, all the store Who stray'd, alas! but knew too well,
Pick'd up long since fro:n Danaë's shower; Jle never there must hope to dwell:
A snuff-box, set with bleeding hearts, Set an unhappy prisoner free,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts; Who ne'er intended harm to thec.”
His nine-pins made of myrtle wood “ To me pertains not,” she replies,
(The tree in Ida's forest stood); “ To know or care where Cupid flies;
His bowl pure gold, the very same What are bis haunts, or which his way; Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame; Where he would dwell, or whither stray : Two table-books in slagreen covers, Yet will I never set thee free;
Fill'd with good verse from real lovers; For barm was meant, and harm to me.”
Merchandise rare ! a billet-doux, “Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart! Its matter passionate, yet true; I'll give thee up my bow and dart;
Heaps of hair-rings, and cypher'd scals; Untangle but this cruel chain,
Rich triiles; serious bagatelles.
What sad disorders play begrets !
Desperate and mad, at length he sets
Those darts, whose points make gols adore The chain I'll in return untie;
His might, and deprecate his poiler: And freely thou again shalt fly.”
Those darts, whence all our joy and pain Thus she the captive did deliver ;
Arise: those darts" Come, seven's the main, The captive thus gave up his quiver.
Cries Ganymede : the vsual trick : The god disarm'd, e'er since that day,
Seven, slar a six; eleven, a nick Passes his life in harmless play;
· Ill news goes fast: 'twas quickly known Flies round, or sits upon her breast,
That simple ('upid was undone. A little, fluttering, idle guest.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew: E'er since that day, the beauteous maid Too late she found the thing too true. Governs the world in Cupid's stead;
Guess how the goldess greets her son: Directs his arrow as she wills;
" Come hither, sirral; no, legune! Gives grief, or pleasure ; spares, or kills. And, hark ye, is it so indeed ?
A comrade you for Ganymede?
As any carthly larly's page;
A scandal and a scourge to Troy;
A prince's son! a black-guardi boy ; Bound her neck her comely tresses tied,
A sharper, that with box and dice Her ivory quiver graceful by her side,
Draws in young deities to vicc.
All Heaven is by the ears together,
Juno heisclf has had no peace: ,
“ And thou, uuhappy child," she said, Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.
(Fler anger by her grief allay'd)
CUPID MISTAKEN... VENUS MISTAKEN...THE DOVE. 149 Inhappy child, who thus hast lost
But she tomorrow will return : All the estate we e'er could boast;
Venus, be thou tornorrow great; Whither, O whither wilt thou run,
Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn,
And meet thy favourite nymph in state.
Let us tomorrow's blessings own:
And all the day be thine alone.
-Tantæne animis cælestibus irr?
In Virgil's sacred verse we find, While that bright magazine shall last :
That passion can depress or raise Your crowded altars still shall smoke;
The heavenly, as the human mind :
Who dare deny what Virgil says ?
But if they should, what our great master
Has thus laid down, my tale shall prove :
Of having lost her favourite Dove.
In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
Ilis grief reliev'd his mother's pain; Venus stood bathing in a river;
He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd, Cupid a-shooting went that way,
But she should have her Dove again. New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.
Though none," said he, “shall yet be nam'de With skill he chose his sharpest dart,
I know the felon well enough: With all his might his bow he drew;
But be she not, Mamma, condemn'd Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
Without a fair and legal proof.” The too-well-guided arrow flew.
With that, his longest dart he took, " I faint! I die !” the goddess cried :
As constable would take his staff: * O cruel, could'st thou find none other, That gods desire like men to look, To wreck thy spleen on? parricide!
Would make e'en Heraclitus laugh. Like Nero, thou hast slajn thy mother."
Love's subalterns, a duteous band, Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;
Like watchinen, round their chief appears “ Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye :
Each had his lantern in his hand; Alas! how easy my mistake!
And Venus inask'd brought up the rear. I took you for your likeness Cloe.”
Accoutred thus, their eager step
To Cloe's lodging they directed:
(At once I write, alas! and weep, VENUS MISTAKEN.
That Cloe is of theft suspected). Whex Cloe's piéturc was tn Venus shown,
Late they set out, had far to go : Surpris'd, the goddess took it for her own. (mean?
St. Dunstan's as they pass'd struck one " And what,” said she, “ does this bold painter
Cloe, for reasons goud, you know, When was I bathing thus, and naked seen?”
Lives at the sober end of th' town. Pleas'd Cupid heard, and check'd his mother's
With one great peal they rap the door,
Like footmen on a visiting-day. pride;
Folks at her house at such an hour! "And who's blind now, mamma?” the urchin cried.
Lord! what will all the neighbours say “ Tis Cloe's eye, and cheek, and lip, and breast : Friend Howard's genius fancied all the rest.” The door is open : up they run:
Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed :
They'll kill my mistress in her bed.”
In bed indeed the nymph had been
Thr-e hours : for, all historians say, To case the sickness of the soul,
She commonly went up at ten,
Unless piquet wa's in the way.
She wak’d, be sure, with strange surprise e
O Cupid, is this right or law, And scek for pleasure, to destroy
Thus to disturb the brightest eyes, The sorrows of this live-long nigbti
That ever slept, or ever saw?