'Tis incenfe to an idol giv'n,
Meat offer'd to Prometheus' man,
That had no foul from Heav'n.
Against his will you chain your frighted king
On rapid Rhine's divided bed,
And mock your hero, whilit ye fing
The wounds for which he never bled;
Falfehood does poifon on your praise diffuse,
And Lewis' fear gives death to Boileau's muse.
On its own worth true majesty is rear'd,
And Virtue is her own reward;
With folid beams and native glory bright,
She neither darkness dreads nor covets light;
True to herself, and fix'd to in-born laws,
Nor funk by fpite, nor lifted by applaufe,
She from her fettled orb looks calmly down
On life or death, a prifon or a crown.
When bound in double chains poor Belgia lay,
To foreign arms and inward ftrife a prey;
Whilft one good man buoy'd up her sinking state,
And Virtue labour'd against Fate;
When Fortune bafely with Ambition join'd,
And all was conquer'd but the patriots mind;
When ftorms let loofe, and raging feas,
Just ready the torn veffel to o'erwhelm,
Forc'd not the faithful pilot from his helm,
Nor all the Siren fongs of future peace,
And dazzling profpect of a promis'd crown.
Could lure his ftubborn virtue down;
But against charms, and threats, and hell, he ftood
To that which was feverly good;
Then had no trophies juftify'd his fame,
No poet blefs'd his fong with Nassau's name;
Virtue alone did all that honour bring,
And Heav'n as plainly pointed out the King,
As when he at the altar ftood
In all is types and robes of pow'r,
Whilst at his feet religious Britain bow'd,
And own'd him next to what we there adore.
By different nations be his valour bleft,
In different languages confeft;
And then let Shannon speak the rest :
Let Shannon speak, how on her wondering fhore,
When conqueft hovering on his arms did wait,
And only ask'd some lives to bribe her o'er ;
The god-like man, the more than conqueror,
With high contempt fent back the fpecious bait:
And, fcorning glory at a price too great,
With fo much power, fuch piety did join,
As made a perfect virtue foar
A pitch unknown to man before;
And lifted Shannon's waves o'er thofe of Boyne.
Nor do his fubjects only share
The profperous fruits of his indulgent reign ;
His enemies approve the pious war,
Which, with their weapon, takes away their chain.
More than his (word his goodness strikes his foes,
They blefs his arins, and figh they must oppofe.
Juftice and freedom on his conquefts wait;
And 'tis for man's delight that he is great;
Succeeding times fhall with long joy contend
If he were more a victor or a friend:
So much his courage and his mercy strive,
He wounds to cure, and conquers to forgive.
Ye Heroes! that have fought your country's caufe,
Radrefs'd her injuries, or form'd her laws,
To my advent'rous fong juft witness bear,
Affift the pious Mufe, and hear her swear,
That 'tis no poet's thought, no flight of youth,
But folid ftory and severest truth,
That William treasures up a greater name
Than any country, any age, can boast;
And all that ancient ftock of fame
He did from his forefathers take
He has improv'd, and gives with intereft back,
And in his conftellation does unite
Their fcatter'd rays of fainter light:
Above or Envy's lash or Fortune's wheel,
That fettled glory fhall for ever dwell,
Above the rolling orbs and common sky,
Where nothing comes that e'er fhall die.
Where roves the Mufe? where, thoughtless to return,
Is her fhort-lived veffel borne,
By potent winds, too fubject to be toft,
And in the fea of William's praises loft?
Nor let her 'tempt that deep, nor make the shore
Where our abandon'd youth fhe fees
Shipwreck'd in luxury and loft in case;
Whom nor Britannia's danger can alarm,
Nor William's exemplary virtue warm:
Tell 'em. howe'er, the King can yet forgive
Their guilty floth, their homage yet receive,
And let their wounded honour live:
But fure and fudden be their juft remorse :
Swift be their virtue's rife, and strong its course :
For tho' for certain years and deftin'd times
Merit has lain confus'd with crimes,
Tho' Jove feem'd negligent of human cares,
Nor fcourg'd our follies nor return'd our pray'rs,
His juftice now demands the equal fcales,
Sedition is fupprefs'd, and truth prevails;
Fate its great ends by flow degrees attains,
And Europe is redeem'd, and William reigns.
IER, l'Amour touchè du fon
Que rendoit ma lire qu'il aime.
Me promit pour une chanson,
Deux baifers de fa mare mefine.
Non, luy dis-je, tu fcais mes vœux.
Tu connois quel penchant m'entraine,
Au lieu d'un j'en offre deux,
Pour un feul baifer de Climene.
III.
Il me promit ce deux retour,
Ma lire en eut plus de tendreffe ;
Mais vous, Climene, de l'amour
Aquiterez-vous la promeffe?
OFT Cupid, wanton, am'rous boy,
The other day, mov'd with my lyre,
In flatt'ring accents spoke his joy,
And utter'd thus his fond defire.
Two kiffes from my mother dear,
Thyrfis, thy due reward fhall be;
None, none like Beauty's queen is fair;
Paris has vouch'd this truth for me.
I play'd with all my skill and pow's,
My glowing paffion to exprefs.
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