Her beauty, in thy fofter half
Bury'd and loft, fhe ought to grieve;
But let her ftrength in thee be fafe;
And let her weep, but let her live.
XIV.
Thou, guardian angel! fave the land
From thy own grief, her fierceft foe,
Left Britain, refcu'd by thy hand,
Should bend, and fink beneath thy woe.
Her former triumphs all are vain
Unless new trophies ftill be fought,
And hoary Majesty sustain
The battles which thy youth has fought.
Where now is all that fearful love
Which made her hate the war's alarms?
That foft excefs with which the ftrove
To keep her hero in her arms?
While still the chid the coming fpring,
Which call'd him o'er his fubject feas,
While for the fafety of the king,
She wish'd the victor's glory lefs.
'Tis chang'd; 'tis gone: fad Britain now
Haftens her lord to foreign wars :
Happy if toils may break his woe,
Or danger may divert his cares.
XIX.
In martial din fhe drowns her fighs,
Left he the rifing grief fhould hear;
She pulls her helmet o'er her eyes,
Left he should see the falling tear.
XX.
Go, mighty prince! let France be taught
How conftant minds by grief are try'd,
How great the land that wept and fought,
When William led and Mary died!
Fierce in the battle make it known,
Where Death with all his darts is feen,
That he can touch thy heart with none
But that which ftruck the beauteous Queen.
But when her anxious lord return'd,
Rais'd is her head, her eyes are dry'd;
She fmiles as William ne'er had mourn'd;
She looks as Mary ne'er had dy'd.
To cure thy woe fhe fhews thy fame,
Left the great mourner should forget
That all the race whence Orange came
Made Virtue triumph over Fate.
XXVII.
William his country's caufe could fight,
And with his blood her freedom feal;
Maurice and Henry guard that right
For which their pious parents fell.
How heroes rife, how patriots fet,
Thy father's bloom and death may tell :
Excelling others these were great;
Thou, greater itill, muft thefe excel.
The laft fair inftance thou must give
Whence Naffau's virtue can be try'd,
And fhew the world that thou canst live
Intrepid as thy confort dy'd.
XXX.
Thy virtue, whofe refiftless force
No dire event could ever stay,
Muft carry on its deftin'd courfe
Tho' Death and Envy ftop the way.
XXXI.
For Britain's fake, for Belgia's, live;
Pierc'd by their grief, forget thy own;
New toils endure, new conqueft give,
And bring them ease, tho' thou haft none.
Vanquish again, tho' she be gone
Whofe garland crown'd the victor's hair;
And reign, tho' fhe has left the throne
Who made thy glory worth thy care.
Fair Britain never yet before
Breath'd to her king an ufelefs pray'r ;
Fond Belgia never did implore
While William turn'd averfe his ear.
But should the weeping hero now
Relentless to their wishes prove,
Should he recal, with pleafing woe,
The object of his grief and love;
XXXV.
Her face with thousand beauties bleft,
Her mind with thoufand virtues ftor'd,
Her power with boundless joy confeít,
Her perfon only not ador'd :
XXXVI.
Yet ought his forrow to be check’d;
Yet ought his paffions to abate;
If the great mourner would reflect,
Her glory in her death complete.
She was inftructed to command,
Great king, by long obeying thee ;
Her fceptre, guided by thy hand,
Preferv'd the ifles, and rul'd the fea.
XXXVIII.
But oh! 'twas little, that her life
O'er earth and water bears thy fame :
In death, 'twas worthy William's wife,
Amidst the ftars to fix his name.
XXXIX.
Beyond where matter moves, or place
Receives its forms, thy virtues roll;
From Mary's glory, angels trace
The beauty of her partner's foul.
Wife fate, which does its heaven decree
To heroes, when they yield their breath,
Haftens thy triumph. Half of thee
Is deify'd before thy death.
Alone to thy renown 'tis given,
Unbounded through all worlds to go:
While fhe, great faint, rejoices heaven ;
And thou fuftain'ft the orb below.
EAR Howard, from the foft affaults of love
Poets and painters never are fecure;
Can I untouch'd the fair one's paffions move,
Or thou draw beauty, and not feel its power?
To great Appelles when young Ammon brought
The darling idol of his captive heart;
And the pleas'd nymph with kind attention fat,
To have her charms recorded by his art:
The amorous master own'd her potent eyes;
Sigh'd when he look'd, and trembled as he drew :
Each flowing line confirm'd his first surprise,
And, as the piece advanc'd, the paffion grew.
While Philip's fon, while Venus' fon, was near,
What different tortures does his bofom feel!
Great was the rival, and the god severe :
Nor could he hide his flame, nor durft reveal,
The prince, renown'd in bounty as in arms,
With pity faw the ill-conceal'd distress;
Quitted his title to Campafpe's charms,
And gave the fair one to the friend's embrace.
Thus the more beauteous Cloe fat to thee,
Good Howard, emulous of the Grecian art:
But happy thou, from Cupid's arrow free,
And flames that pierc'd thy predecessor's heart!
Had thy poor breaft receiv'd an equal pain;
Had I been vefted with the monarch's pow'r;
Thou must have sighed, unlucky youth, in vain ;
Nor from my bounty hadft thou found a cure,
Though, to convince thee that the friend did feel
A kind concern for thy ill-fated care
I would have footh'd the flame I could not heal;
Given thee the world; though I withheld the fair. 32
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